To Build a Nuke or Not to Build a Nuke
by scifi lemon
Summary: The way to a woman's heart is...through weapons of mass destruction? Why 12 year old McKay built an atomic bomb and a prequel that gives us a glimpse into the life of that annoying scientist we all love before he became a scientist.
1. Oh Woe is Me!

A/N Hey everyone! This is my 2nd ff (sorta). I'll be focusing on this one a little bit more than the other but don't hate me. This is a story I've always wanted to tell, and I hope you like it. Enjoy! Please R&R!

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Chapter One: Oh Woe is me!

For the average person, waking up flat on your back staring at a grey sky, the cold wind chilling you to your bones, with no memory of how you got there would be completely out of the ordinary.

But twelve year old Meredith Rodney McKay was anything but average, as he would be quick to tell you, and for him this _was_ somewhat ordinary.

Rodney gingerly sat up, using one hand to massage his stiff back while the other swiped his face. He instinctively pulled it back when it felt a foreign substance. He glanced at the contaminated fingers to find dark red blood. He lightly touched the area just below his nose to find more of it there.

"Oh that is just perfect." The boy genius whined.

Using the edge of his sweater, he wiped (hopefully) the rest of his blood off his face and attempted to stand. The world shifted sideways as a sense of vertigo brought him back down to the ice-cold cement. _What the heck happened?_ He pondered. He studied his surroundings to try and get a clue where he was.

Rodney was sitting behind a large dumpster in what he concluded was an ally from the tall brick walls and the metal door bearing a logo of the local pizza restaurant. Placing one hand for support, he gently eased himself up and leaned against it. He closed his eyes and tried to remember how he got here.

He images of Langsworth, the 8th grade bully/ super-jock that often chose McKay as his prime practice dummy, and his minions came up. Rodney remembered an argument over… a girl? The figure of a certain attractive blond with cropped hair was brought to the surface of Rodney's mind. _Ah yes, the sexy Linda Walters. That is, if fourteen year olds can be sexy. _He recalled the argument between the notorious 'silverback' and himself.

Langsworth had been getting a little too forward with Linda, forcing Rodney (in his opinion) and his mouth of epic-proportions to interfere. A few well place jabs at his ego, his intelligence, how remarkably similar his facial features were to a primate, his intelligence, and a few multi-syllable words that the dim-wit couldn't comprehend later and… Langworth's short attention span switched from Linda to Rodney so fast it made his head spin. Literally. The resulting punch in the face most likely rendered McKay unconscious, as he had always been susceptible to fainting… er, passing out. The knuckle head probably panicked and dragged the unaware boy-genius to this alley.

"Way, to go Rodney. Get yourself in trouble with the Head Idiot, yet again. For a genius, you aren't that smart with people." Rodney complained. He sighed, and rubbed the back of his neck. He tenderly pushed himself off the wall and stood. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his faded black backpack leaning on the wall opposite him.

He slowly hobbled over, wincing as he forced his stiff legs to move. Rodney reached down and grabbed the handhold at the top of his backpack. He braced his muscles for the weight he expected, as his pack was brimming with thick textbooks for all his advance classes, and yanked sharply up. The bottom of the bag split open, sending a shower of school supplies and rather heavy books crashing down towards his feet. One of the heavy books with unnecessarily sharp edges landed square on his foot, making Rodney jump back and wince in pain. The sudden movement made him lose his balance, something he was prone to doing, and he fell right on his sore tailbone.

A stream of expletives spouted from his mouth. Murmuring about gravity and incompetent sweat-shop workers, he investigated the culprit responsible for his new woe. Rodney saw that the bottom was very neatly slit with a knife, and most likely placed there for him to do exactly what he did. He surveyed the now loose papers blowing about in the cold autumn breeze and the several thick books scattered on the ground, and realized that there was almost no way that he could carry this with any ease. He also knew that he wouldn't be getting a replacement pack for weeks to come.

"Could this day get any worse?" He groaned.

A deafening thunderclap shook the air around him and the next instant it started to pour freezing rain, ruining the sheets of paper.

"You just _had_ to say it, didn't you?" Rodney turned his eyes toward the dark storm clouds. "Why is it always me?"

He was already shivering from the icy downpour that was drenching his clothes. The unfortunate boy began to pick up the soaking papers and shove them inside the textbooks. Rodney gathered the books in his shaking arms and grabbed the ruined backpack. He balanced his school books the best he could and he strode out of the alleyway, headed homeward bound.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

He arrived only a few minutes later but in the horrendous weather, it felt like hours. Without any free hands, Rodney none-to-gently kicked the door.

"Open up! It's Rodney!" He could barely get the words out his jaw was shivering so much.

His little sister Jeanie, with her ever-present teddy bear dangling from one hand, opened the door and let him in. The warmth seeped pleasantly into Rodney as he stepped inside and he stood there for a moment, closing his eyes and holding back a contented sigh. _At last, relief. I'll just change into some nice warm, dry clothes, grab the largest cup of coffee I can find, sit down with one of the quantum physic books I got from the library and-_ a piercing voice interrupted his reverie.

"Where have you been?"

The slow drawl of his mother's voice startled him so much that the precarious stack of books in his arms toppled over at last. The soggy hardbacks fell to the hardwood floor with a clatter, making Rodney grimace as each sound reverberated through the room. He cautiously opened one eye to see the foreboding stance of his mom, her arms crossed over her chest and lips pursed in anger as she took in his wet form dripping all over the expensive wood. Above them thunder rumbled.

"I…ah… well… you see, um…" For one of the few times in his life, Rodney was rendered speechless. He knew his mother would only yell at him if he tried to lie (like I said before, he's bad with people. She could always see right through the lies) and she would yell for getting beat up, too, in a sick twist of fate. Like it was his fault he rubbed the ape-boy the wrong way! Then again, it actually was. If he had just kept his mouth shut, for once…

"Well, out with it! You've been gone for hours and we had to eat without you. If you tell me the truth, I _might_ give you leftovers."

The thought of food made his stomach growl loudly. Langsworth had stolen his lunch, again, and with no one that he was close enough with to ask for handouts, he hadn't eaten. Rodney sighed, defeated. He softly recounted the tale with his head bowed. There was a pause after he was finished, and he looked hopefully up at his mom, praying that for once she wouldn't barrage him like she always did. But as soon as he made eye contact with the woman before him, the dam burst open.

Mrs. McKay screamed at the top of her lungs in that remarkably shrill voice of hers, yelling at him for being such a bother, for how much he cost them being so smart, having to pay for all his books and special classes, why he couldn't just keep his head down and be a good boy, blah, blah, blah.

While his mother continued her onslaught, Rodney gathered the fallen books in a haphazard pile and picked them up. Over the years, he had learned to tune out his mother's temper-tantrums… mostly.

"- lived in the real world to begin with! All you care about is your stupid math instead of trying to make friends like _normal_ people. A social life, the one concept you can't seem to get! You've never had one friend your entire life, and never will! You'll grow up to be some strange, lonely man, consumed by your precious, pointless physics." She mocked. "When you die no one will notice or care. You know why? Cause you and your 'quantum mechanics' and 'vector calculus' aren't important. Completely useless. I honestly don't know why I bother with the likes of you." Mrs. McKay drawled.

His mother prediction injured him. Rodney staggered internally at the deep wound, that was in fact, one of his deepest fears. His stomach curled into a tight knot as his muscles tightened. Fighting back rising tears, he got to his feet and looked his mom square in the eyes. He rolled his shoulders back and stood straight, lifting his chin defiantly.

"I'll show you. One day, I promise I'll show you. I'll do something with science that's so great, so...so _revolutionary_ that everyone who's anyone will know the name Rodney McKay! And it'll be in physics, too. Because…because if you had even an_ inkling_ of intellect, then you would realize that it's far from pointless or stupid. I'm sorry that I can comprehend things on a level that you can't _begin_ to fathom, but I won't ever regret being smarter then those knuckle-dragging gorillas that you call 'normal' and will never need their company!" Rodney spoke softly at first, but grew louder as he got bolder. Oh, sure, he knew that he was screwed by flat-out insulting his mom but he figured, why not go out with a bang?

For a few moments, an anxious silence fell over the room like a cloud. Mrs. McKay stood in front of her son with hands curled tightly into fists, quivering with rage.

Then, as quick as lightning, his mother crossed the small distance between them and slapped him clear across the face. The house echoed with a loud _smack! _Rodney cried out in pain at the strike, which was so strong it knocked him sideways. The books flew out of his hands as he landed and he clutched the injured side of his face. He sat there on the floor, protecting his face while tears ran unabated from his eyes.

Mother shouted at her son over his quiet sobs. "How dare you speak to you mother like that, you filthy piece of slime!? Get out of my sight, NOW!!" Rodney abandoned his school books and darted past his fuming mother up the stairs to his room. He slammed the doom shut and collapsed on his bed, burying his stinging face in his arms.

Rodney continued to quietly weep over the noisy voices of his parents arguing below. His dad probably upset with what his wife just did, and his mom, well, was doing what she always did: complained. He heard the faint sound of something breaking in the rooms below him and the quarrel escalated. Throughout the screaming and the unmistakable sound of glass shattering, Rodney continued to cry over not only the physical pain, but the mental agony he was in. With bloodshot eyes and tear stained cheeks, the genius vowed once again to prove to everyone that he was the smartest man in the world and that one day, just maybe, he would make a friend.

The future Dr. Rodney McKay continued to cry as his parent's fight continued, till he gave in to exhaustion and thought no more.

**TBC**

A/N Yay! Chapter 1, done. crosses off checklist I'll post ch. 2 in a day or so. While you're waiting, why don't you take a moment and review? Remember, for authors reviews are like potato chips, you can't read just one!


	2. The Way to a Woman's Heart is

_A/N Here's chapter two! Thank you all for waiting for so long and for you wonderful reivews. R&R and enjoy! _

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Chapter Two: The Way to a Woman's Heart is…

Rodney woke up the next morning with the too bright sunlight shining right in eyes. He squeezed his eyelids together and rolled over, trying to block the light. He wanted to curl up and go back to sleep, but a nagging voice in the back of his mind reminded him that he was going to be late.

Rodney told the voice to shut up and sank down farther into the mattress. He was relaxing once again, letting his breathing slow… when another voice disturbed his slumber, but this one wasn't in his head.

"Wake up, Mer! It's time for school!" Ugh, it was the annoyingly high-pitch little-kidish sound of Jeanie's voice. Rodney swore that she was worse than any alarm clock. He made incoherent mumbles but didn't move. Getting up to 'face the new day' was the last thing he wanted to do, especially when it meant facing another round of humiliation and torment from his classmates and some of his teachers. His dad used to say, "This is the day that the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it." To that Rodney responded, "Yeah? Well, I don't think that God's a morning person. He made caffeine and coffee for a reason." Dad never said it again.

Eight year old Jeanie guessed that from the lack of noise in the room, her big brother was probably lying in bed, still dressed in the clothes from last night, moping. She sighed and pushed the door open. Mer's bed was directly in front of her, just feet from the door. He had a small desk and chair in one corner, a TV set in the other, but they were so covered with books, papers and (dirty?) clothes that they were barely discernable. Jeanie wrinkled her nose in disgust and walked in slowly, praying that there wasn't a smell.

Once inside the bacterial paradise, she turned her attention to her brother. Just as she predicted, he curled up in a tight ball apparently trying to block out the world around him. She grabbed one of his shoulders and shook it lightly.

"Come on, Mer, we're gonna be late! Mom'll kill us if we're late for the, (what day is it? Thursday?) fourth time this week! Four times out of four. You're the genius, so you should know that's a bad ratio." Jeanie paused as Mer tried to squirm out of her grasp and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "Go away, twerp."

She tried to think of what would motivate her stubborn brother. "Ah, come on Mer, think of what you'll miss." She ignored his snort. He mumbled something that resembled snark, so she ignored it. "Today they're announcing the date and guidelines of the school-wide science fair." She noticed that he stopped resisting and perked up, opening his eyes a sliver. He cocked a brow, as though encouraging her to go on. A wry grin spilt her small face. "And the beautiful blond Linda Walters will be there, too."

Mer instantly perked up. "I'm awake." He attempted to rub the sleep out of his eyes.

Jeanie smiled at his predictability. "Hurry up. Get a cuppa coffee, brush your hair, change your clothes, and for God's sake brush your teeth. I think a new life form is evolving in there."

"What?" Rodney licked his teeth and cupped a hand in front of his mouth. He pushed the air out of his lungs, and quickly tried to smell his breath.

Jeanie laughed. "Oh come on, Mer! I was joking!"

"That's great, mock the pathetic socially inept man. And they call you the nice one," Rodney whined as got up and searched through the mountain of clothes around his room, looking for something clean.

"I am not mocking you," she defended. "I was just teasing! You really have to loosen up."

McKay glanced up from his hunt. He shot her a 'are you serious?' glare.

Jeanie snorted. "Right. For a moment, I forgot who I was talking to."

Her brother went to the pile covering his TV. He pulled off a shirt and a pair of pants. After a quick sniff test, he deemed them worthy to wear, much to the revulsion of his sister. "That's just nasty." Her nose wrinkled to show her point.

"Unless you want it to get 'nastier' I suggest you leave before I change. You don't strike me as the type of person that wants to see my stylish boxers." Jeanie left the room and shut the door behind her before he finished speaking. A crooked smile crossed his face, but slowly fell as he remembered what lay outside his bedroom door.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

A couple minutes past and Rodney was dressed, hair combed and teeth sparkling clean. He even added some Scope for insurance. Though he'd never admit it, he didn't want to take any threat regarding Linda not liking him. He really liked her and didn't want to risk turning her off with something as little as bad breath. He'd honestly do _anything_ to make her to 'hang' with him.

Was he pathetic? Yes. He'd never say it aloud, but he knew he was.

Was he desperate for someone other than his sister to talk to him without yelling or rolling their eyes?

Oh, yeah. Again, see 'pathetic'. Add 'miserable' and 'lonely' while you're at it.

Linda was one of the two (again, _sad_) people that were half-way decent with him. Not including Jeanie. The other was the crazy old hermit who lived in the local junkyard. Rodney would go there occasionally looking for something he could use in whatever project he was doing at the time. Mr. Riley knew an abnormally large amount about mechanics and could locate anything he needed in the junkyard in a few minutes.

With one final inspection in the mirror, Rodney stomped down the stairs and headed to the kitchen. He cautious peeked around the corner to make sure his mother wasn't there, but only saw his sister leaning against the tile island in the middle of the room. Jeanie was holding a travel cup and a bar wrapped in tinfoil that he supposed was for him. When she saw Mer peer around the wall, she walked toward him and shoved her burdens into his arms.

"Here. It's a cup of coffee, black, just the way you like it, and a power bar. Don't whine about having to eat something new, just eat it. Try it; knowing you, I'm sure you'll like it. Oh, don't worry about Mom. She left before I got you. I figured that it wasn't good to have the two of you in the same room." She handed him a dark green backpack that seemed to be very heavy from the way she struggled to lift it. He took it and glanced inside. It was brimming with his textbooks and more of the strange power bars.

"What? How…" Mer stammered, remembering all to well what happened to his old pack.

"It was an old one of mine," Jeanie explained. "I always hated green and since you 'lost' yours, I thought you could use it. Now come on, we don't have much time." She strode out the door with Rodney in her wake.

As they walked briskly toward the school a block away, Rodney carefully open the curious package. Like a master chef, he cautiously sniffed it, turned it all around as he observed the texture and coloring, then carefully took a nibble. He hummed in pleasure and bit off a huge chunk. "This isn't half bad," he projected through the mouthful.

Jeanie, who was now quite a ways ahead of him, called to him. "That's great! Now get a move on!" she commanded.

Rodney jogged for a bit till he was matching her stride for stride. "I wanted to say that uh, um, what I mean is"- He curse himself for not being able to say something as simple as 'Thank you'.

His sister interrupted him, knowing what he meant. "You're welcome." As the rounded the block, the Jefferson school loomed into view. Because their town was so small, it only has two schools: one for K-8th and the other for 9-12th grades. So, even though Jeanie was in 2nd grade (yeah, she's smart for a 2nd grader; their parents had sneaking suspicions that she was a genius too) both she and her brother went to the same school.

They ran the remaining distance and clattered up the smooth stone steps up to the main door. The siblings threw open the doors to find the hallways as empty as it was on a Saturday afternoon. Classes were already in session, meaning that they were late.

"Aw, crap." Rodney cursed. He said good bye to Jeanie and they both raced down the hallway in opposite directions toward their respective homerooms. The genius was panting from the exertion by the time he reached Ms. Tamble's room. He burst through the door, right in the middle of roll call. Every eye in the class focused on his crimson face as he stood there gasping for breath.

"Rodney… McKay is… present," he said in between each inhalation. Around the room, girls giggled and Rodney willed himself not to glare at them.

Ms. Tamble's upper lip curled in disgust. "Well, it seems that our very own MacGyver has decided to grace us with his presence. For a moment, I had feared that you had moved on to… bigger and better things." The slight wistfulness in her voice suggested otherwise. He became even redder with anger and a growing humiliation.

Ms. Tamble hated him ever since he inadvertently ashamed her in a math class many snake-eye glares ago. Another rant from his mom had made it impossible to sleep, so he made up for the lost time on his book, snoring and drooling away. Ms. Tamble didn't know that the offender was the resident math whiz who didn't need to listen to get A's. The new teacher probably thought she was being witty when she made Rodney stand up in front of the class and teach, since he "knew it so well he didn't need to pay attention".

Rodney couldn't agree more.

Frustrated with yet another condescending adult ignorant of his high IQ, he had simply answered, "Fine." Just as Ms. Tamble had wanted, he taught the lesson; he drew crude diagrams and explained the finer points in midst snickering from those who were well informed of McKay's 'smarts' and were mocking the bewildered expression on Ms. Tamble's face. She has yet to live down the embarrassment.

Which caused her to loathe him even more, naturally.

Rodney brought himself back to the present. Ms. Tamble ordered him to take a seat before he could retaliate with a snarky comment of his own. Seeing the scorning looks of his classmates, he let a comeback die on his lips. He hung his head in resignation and walked over to his desk (in the front row, naturally. Nerds always got the worst seats). The boy collapsed into his chair, thankful for some rest at last, and prepared himself for the coming day.

The first three class periods flew by quickly and surprisingly uneventfully. It was starting off to be a pretty good day for possibly the most hated person in town; instead of the usual mocking, giggling, uncomfortable silence, then another round of mocking, he was completely ignored. It was shaping up to be a great day.

A note was passed to him when Ms. Tamble was writing on the board. From the smirk on the guy's face, Rodney guessed that it wasn't good. He carefully unfolded the paper and read:

Nice backpack

He paled as he instantly recognized what they meant. Rodney cautiously turned around to the author of the succinct note. Langsworth and his crones sat in the back trying unsuccessfully to mask their laughter. Rodney made eye contact with his bane and Langsworth's smirk grew as he gave a small, taunting wave at him. The unspoken threat in his brown eyes made Rodney spin around quickly and stare at the board. God he was pathetic. He was spared any interrogation by Ms. Tamble by the shrill ringing of the bells announced that it was break. _Saved by the bell, how cliché. _Rodney gathered his books and fled the class to the mess room that the 6-8 graders used for their recess.

McKay found a spot by himself in one of the far off corners, the place farthest from Langsworth and all the other jocks. He threw his pack on the table and slid onto the bench beside it. He was in the middle of digging out one of his physics books when he noticed Linda leaning against the wall not too far from him, _by herself_.

Seeing an opportunity, Rodney tried to stand up but only managed to whack his thighs against the edge of the table. He winced in pain and gingerly got out. He ran a hand through his short brown hair as he began to slowly walk over to her, trying to give it that bed head look that the opposite sex seemed to find attractive. His hair simply looked slightly ruffled and not at all rakish.

Rodney was shaking slightly and his heart was pounding as he approached Linda. After one last quick breath test, he cleared his throat. "Um, hello Linda."

Linda jumped and put a delicate hand to her ample chest. "Jeez Rodney, don't scare me like that!"

"Sorry." He shifted uncomfortably as he glanced out into the chattering mass. "There are a lot of people here today. I thought everyone would be outside playing street hockey."

"I thought you of all people would remember. Today's the day that they announce the rules for the Science Fair… and the prizes." Linda leaned closer to him. "Rumor has it that they'll be giving over a hundred dollars to the winner."

Her close proximity to him was making his heart pound so hard against his chest that he thought it would burst. "Yes, that sounds exciting. Again, I ask why Langsworth and company are in here." His exhilaration at the thought of the Science Fair was drowned out the smell of the lavender perfume Linda was wearing, her bright blue eyes, the bubbling sound of her laughter…

"I guess the mention of cash caught their attention." Her voice brought him back from his reverie. Rodney realized that his mouth was hanging open and he abruptly shut it, blushing slightly at the amused glint in Linda's eye. Man, she was absolutely gorgeous. And she spoke to him! How often did that happen?!

"So… is there something you wanted to talk to me about?" Rodney was relived that she didn't mention his lapse in etiquette, or look disgusted by it. Linda merely seemed to be laughing inside, but not obviously mocking so Rodney hoped it was okay.

"Right, right. I had wanted to ask you how, um." He averted his gaze and shoved his hands in his pockets. "I wanted to ask you how you are after, you know, yesterday with Langsworth and"-

Linda's face fell. "Is that what this is about? Do you think that just because you made fun of Langsworth and stood up for me, that I'm suddenly going to hang out with you?" Linda saw the slightly hurt look on Rodney's face and softened her tone. She sighed and rubbed her forehead. "Look, it's not that _I_ don't like you it's that, well, _everyone else doesn't_. They think you're a loser, and frankly, I don't want to risk getting alienated, not when my social life is doing so well. Do you understand?" She looked him in the eye, trying to find understanding in their blue depths.

Rodney was disturbed with what she said, but he really could understand her reasoning, sort of. If he had friends like hers, or friends period, he would do anything to keep them. He would just have to find some way to prove himself to them, make him worthy of their friendship. Rodney nodded. "Yeah, I understand." There was no sarcasm in his reply, simply weary resignation.

Linda sensed the awkward silence and saw that he still hadn't taken the hint and left. "So, how are you doing? That punch from Langsworth looked like it hurt," she asked, trying to fill the dead air.

Rodney was honestly surprised that she had seen Langsworth hit him, or that she cared. But as he saw her glance around the hall (obviously looking for someone), he wondered if she really did. His spirits sank a little more and he replied in a subdued tone. "I'm fine, don't worry about me, I'm cool. Okay, well, not really, 'cause I'm a geek and everything. Langsworth the cool one. He's on the hockey team, he's rich. And me, well, I'm just fine. Well, not in that way, either, I mean"-

His rambling was cut off by the arrival of the cluster of girls Linda hung out with. The patronizing expression she had adopted during Rodney's nervous logorrhea evaporated and relief was put in its place. The girls cheerfully greeted Linda, but they sneered at the sight of the geek. Linda cut off their questions by saying to Rodney, "Well… see ya around, Rodney." And with that, she turned and left.

Rodney gave a small wave to Linda's retreating back. "See ya." He turned his attention to one of the teachers, the twig-like and pale Mr. Brown, who stood up on a table and raised his bullhorn.

"May I have your attention, please? May I have your attention, please?" The middle school reluctantly turned to the adult. "I am here to announce the requirements for the Science Fair." Several of the older guys and girls sarcastically cheered and clapped. Mr. Brown clearly didn't see the deriding tone in the applause, but looked emboldened by it.

Rodney listened intently, but his encounter with Linda kept replaying in his mind's eye. He vaguely heard the requirements for the projects (no adult help, must create a diagram to present your project to the judges, must be science related, etc.) but focused on what Linda said about why he couldn't hang out with her like the guys she was sitting with right now, laughing and talking about everything and nothing. Having the time of their lives while Rodney sat in the shadows, alone.

_Those people over there think I'm a loser, that the only thing standing in the way of me and Linda being together. _Maybe there was more, but McKay hoped not. He was forced to stick with the information presented to him, because he couldn't read between the lines when it came to people. But how do you convince someone that you're not a loser? Well, Rodney didn't have a lot of money, and he certainly wasn't good looking (at least to the girls in his school anyway) but he had his smarts.

_So maybe, _the answer dawned on him, _maybe if I build something so spectacular that I would win the Science Fair for sure! If I got first place in the fair would they wouldn't be able to call me a 'loser' anymore. Linda and I could hang out together all the time. Perhaps, she wouldn't be so dismissive of me. Maybe _she_ would come up to _me_ for a change._

Rodney's chest swelled with hope. It would have to be something huge though, something no one else would ever think of, that no one else could do, that way he would _have_ to get first place! He'd use the award money and take Linda out to dinner or something. As Mr. Brown stepped down, Rodney rushed off to the library to search for the project that would get him the prize at the fair and Linda Walters' heart.

He knew that he would find it. After all, he was Rodney McKay and if anyone could create something outrageously brilliant it would be him. But with only month to work, he'd have to start soon.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

**TBC**


	3. Through Weapons of Mass Destruction?

_A/N Thanks for waiting! I'm switching back and forth b/t two different stories right now, plus homework and other stupid school stuff. Big thanks to everyone who reviewed! Now, here's the next chapter!!!_

Chapter Three: … Is Through Weapons of Mass Destruction?

Rodney dug through the library books with an excited flurry. He was glancing at page after page in search of the one thing that could make him 'cool' in Linda's eyes. Well, not 'cool' cool, more of a slightly less 'not cool'. His grin widened and he began to work faster, enthusiastically selecting another hardcover, this one on Theoretical Physics his favorite subject. He scanned a few pages, looking for anything that caught his eye. _Ah yes, zero-point energy; fascinating topic… but how could I use it in the science fair?_

The substitute librarian Mr. Meyers was watching the strange, slightly chubby boy, wondering what the heck he was doing. The boy was pulling books of the shelves seemingly in random, skimming a few pages, tossing it down onto the nearby table, and then grabbing another book from the rack. This repeated again and again, more times than the elderly man could count.

Mr. Meyers briefly wondered if he was nuts because the kid was in the Advance Sciences section, and no one under the age of thirty had anything to do with that part of the library. Heck, some people kept themselves as far away from the entire library as humanly possible. That was blatantly obvious considering that he and the boy were the only two in here. _Yup, that boy sure ain't right. _He decided to approach the lad and see if he really was not right in the head.

The seventy year old gingerly leaned forward in his chair, the antique wood creaking loudly in the overpowering silence of the large space. He used his cane for support he slowly stood and carefully limped over to the lad. "Do you need some help there, boy?"

Rodney jumped, startled. "What are you trying to do, give me a heart attack? You shouldn't sneak up on people like that." He loosened his grip on the book as he studied the withered elderly man before him.

The crone was bald save for a few wisps of white hair atop his liver-spotted head. He was literally nothing but skin and bones, with his wool sweater hanging loosely off his thin frame. Large glasses obscured most of his deeply wrinkled face and his knobby fingers gripped his cane tightly. The man looked like he would fall over at the slightest breath of wind.

After observing how weak the figure before him was, Rodney attempted to soften his tone. "So, um, where's Mrs. Weatherby, the regular librarian?"

The old man looked at him closer, and seemed to relax. _So, he's a regular… probably just a little eccentric, but not a wacko. _ "Mrs. Weatherby? Oh the poor dear caught a nasty flu and asked me to cover for her. I'm Jonas Meyers, and pleased to meet you."

Rodney gave Mr. Meyers his name. An uncomfortable silence passed between them.

"So, can I help you with something, Rodney?" asked Mr. Meyers.

The boy glanced at the large pile of discarded books and at the huge amount of books left on the shelves. He sighed. "You probably won't be able to help but… I'm looking for something great. Something, something _big. _ Spectacular, even. Something so big no one else could make anything close to it." Saying it out loud made him feel slightly foolish, but it was the truth.

Mr. Meyer's pondered the lad's peculiar question. He thought for a moment, trying to make those rusty old gears in his mind turn. "Well, let me think for a moment…"

The minutes slowly ticked by. Rodney squirmed during the obscenely long time it was taking the man to reply. He crossed his arms and tapped his foot impatiently. His patience was fading quickly and he wanted to scream, "Get on with it old man! Did you forget to take your Alzheimer's medicine? If you don't say something soon we'll be waiting here till I look like you, you old fart!" But Rodney bit his tongue and forced himself to remain quiet. However, he didn't know for how much longer he could keep it up.

After about five of the longest and most painful minutes of McKay's life, Mr. Meyers responded. "I remember that when I was a young boy, about your age… I think the year was 1940… or was it 1939?" Rodney rolled his eyes and sighed, exasperated. He should have known that this was a bad idea. He closed his eyes and bowed his head, attempting to inhale deep, soothing breaths. _Good job Rodney. Ask the insane person a serious question and end up taking a stroll down Memory Lane. You're a real genius. _

The 'insane person' continued. "My father told me about the new A-bombs that the Americans were building. He said that it was gonna be the greatest discovery of the 20th century, the biggest thing since sliced bread. You see, slice bread had been invented the year before, at least, I think it was…" Rodney opened his eyes and jerked his head up. _An atomic bomb… now _that's _one heck of a science fair project! I'd have to win if I made one! After all, what could create something near the level of a weapon of mass destruction? A potato battery or a robot? I don't think so! _

Plans were already whizzing across his mind's eye as he rushed to the appropriate part of the library. Rows of books sped by his as he ran to the section and skid to a stop. Rodney might not be the most athletic person, but years of fleeing from bullies had made him fast on his feet. He leapt down the correct row and began to pull down all of the books on atomic bombs, nuclear power, radiation, and anything that might help him with his project. _Linda will love this! There's no way anyone will be able to call me a loser after I show up at school with a homemade A-bomb. I can't wait to see the looks on their faces! _

He looked at the diagrams of the first atomic weapons, analyzing the diagrams. Numbers and pictures flew through his brain at lightning speed. He was internally categorizing what materials he will need to create a working bomb: the metal casing, the wiring, the ignition, the uranium- Rodney's brow furrowed and he glanced up.

_A working bomb? Uranium?_ No, no, he didn't want to actually build an atomic and arm it- after all, this was only the _6th grade_ science fair. No, he'd build a… a working model of an atomic bomb. _There, that sounds a lot better than plain 'bomb', but still extremely impressive._ Rodney surveyed the diagram once more and decided he would create it to the exact specifications, but without any explosives or radioactive material.

_Maybe I'll include the uranium in high school. But how would I get my hands on radioactive matter? It's not like I could just walk into Wal-Mart and find the 'nuclear warheads' aisle. Maybe if I could increase the radiation in a microwave…_ Rodney shook his head. _Come on focus, McKay, focus. _He sighed. _God, I really need some coffee. _

He gathered up several of the more descriptive hardbacks, searched through the library maps and found of the original illustrations of the inner workings of an atomic bomb (he didn't even want to know how that got there). Rodney checked them out with Mr. Meyer's who unabashedly stared at the genius and urged him to keep them for as long as he needed.

Rodney was so excited that he failed to notice how Mr. Meyer's leaned forward on his desk to watch Rodney as he left with a huge grin on his face. Nor did he hear the old man exclaim to no one, "That boy ain't right. Nope, he sure ain't right."

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Rodney thanked a God that he didn't believe that his mother wasn't home when he arrived there. His father was casually sitting on his recliner, legs spread wide and clothed only in his boxers and a filthy once white shirt. Mr. McKay simply grunted in acknowledgement when his son greeted him before rushing up the stairs.

Rodney slammed his door shut and threw his books on the bed. He glanced at his messy room and realized that he would have to clear some space to work. He walked around the small space, gathering clothes from on top his TV and desk, and threw them haphazardly into his cluttered closet. Rodney shoved other items underneath his bed, until he pronounced the area 'clean'.

He strode over to his chair and realized that it was dark green. Rodney blinked in surprise, but quickly recovered and sat down. He arraigned the library books across the surface of the desk and unrolled the drawing. Ruffling through his pack, he found a notebook and pen. He clicked the ballpoint pen, finding a small comfort in the familiar sound, opened a book, took a sip from his Starbucks, and began to absorb the information contained within the pages.

Rodney continued like this for hours, reading and scribbling notes, studying the diagram, muttering to no one in particular. He dedicated himself to learning everything there was to know about how to harness the power of the atom. His only regret was the latest book was published in 1952. Rodney wanted to build a more recent A-bomb, but with the Cold War going on, he figured he would have to make do with what he had. But as he studied the books more and more, he began to see improvements that could made in the design.

_Now, that would be an interesting title for my project, "How Rodney McKay Made a Better Atomic Bomb". Definitely has a nice ring to it._ A thumping on his door interrupted his thoughts. He scowled, wondering who would dare bother him at a time like this.

Rodney looked at his nearly filled notebook and at the study material around him. He decided that he couldn't leave it. He was so _close_ to finishing his plans. He had made a new and improved illustration, listed the supplies he would need (which was excruciatingly long) - he couldn't, wouldn't, get up now. Rodney turned pointedly away from the door and hunched over his books in an obvious, 'don't disturb' body language. He grunted for whoever was banging to enter.

The door swung open and his sister stood in the doorway, still dressed in her school clothes and clutching her pink backpack. "Where were you?" Jeanie angrily questioned.

Rodney attempted to get her to leave. "Can't you see that I'm busy? Why don't you go away and play with your Barbies? I'm sure they would enjoy your company."

Jeanie stomped over to his side and ignored his comment. "I had to walk back home by myself; do you know how embarrassing that is? I asked Ms. Tamble where you were and she said that you left at recess and never came back. Where the heck have you been all this time?" Rodney could feel the anger radiating off her small body.

Rodney froze and stared at his sister in shock. He replayed the day in his head and realized had happened. Feeling his blood run cold he said, "Oh my God." He slumped in his chair and put his head in his hands. "Mom is _so_ going to kill me. This is it, the final straw."

His sister rolled her eyes. "She's not going to kill you," she patronized. "She'll be really, really PO'd, take away your Atari, TV and all your books, never let you leave your room, and will probably ground you for the rest of your life, but she'd never kill you."

A smothered moan escaped Rodney's lips. "I'm a dead man."

"Oh stop being so melodramatic." Jeanie peeked around her brother's body at the books scattered on his desk and the crude drawing. When she saw the title on the paper "The Rodney McKay Atomic Bomb" she gave a startled cry and backed away. "You're building a bomb!!!"

Rodney jerked his head up at her shrill voice. He swerved towards the open door and his eyes widened. _Did Dad hear that?_ He ran to the door and shut it, leaning up against it, staring at his sibling's shocked and frightened face. "Will you just calm down for a minute and let me explain?" Rodney snapped.

"What's there to explain?! You ditched school to build a nuclear bomb!!" Jeanie exclaimed.

"It's an _atomic _bomb, completely different." The genius corrected.

"Yes, that makes it all better doesn't it?!" Jeanie asked. "What are you planning on doing with it?!" She paused for a moment. Rodney tried to interrupt but Jeanie continued before he could say anything. "Oh my God, you're not planning on blowing up the school are you?! I know that you aren't the most popular kid but that doesn't mean you should take revenge like that! I have friends there!"-

Rodney cut off her tirade. "Breathe, Jeanie, breathe. I am _not_, I repeat, NOT going to blow anything up!" He crossed his arms over his chest and straightened. "Besides, it's not going to be armed. There's no way it could go 'Ka-boom'."

"It's still going to be a bomb." she countered.

"It'll be more like a working model than an actual bomb." He leaned in closer to her. "I'll give you a one hundred percent guarantee that nothing will happen if you swear to never, _ever_ tell Mom or Dad," explained Rodney.

Jeanie tilted her petite blond head, making eye contact with Meredith. "You promise, Mere?"

"I promise, Jeanie," he said in his most reassuring voice.

She considered it for a moment and nodded. "I won't tell Mom or Dad, Mere, I swear."

Rodney mimicked her motion. "Good, good." He succinctly wondered if it was wise to trust an eight year old. A silence descended over the room. He thought she would leave, but she remained rooted to the ground. Jeanie leaned over the desk and started flipping through his notes. "Hey, hey, what doing you think you're doing?!" He walked over and ripped the paper from her hands. "These are extremely important! You could rip them or damage them or ruin them in other creative ways too numerous to name!" stammered McKay.

Rodney didn't know if someone could get their eyes stuck from rolling your eyes too much, but his sister was in serious danger of it. "Puh-lease, Mere, I'm only looking at it."

"Yes, well, I wouldn't see why you'd want to. Physics is something your puny little brain will never be able to comprehend." He said smugly.

Jeanie crossed her arms. "I wanna help you build your bomb… er, 'working model'."

Rodney stared at his sister incredulously for a heartbeat, then burst out laughing. "How could you possibly help, hmmm? Draw butterflies on my diagrams? Put fairy stickers on the metal casing?" mocked her brother.

"If you don't let me I'll…" she let the sentence trail off in thought.

"You'll what? Plot dastardly revenge with your teddy bear? Tell your imaginary friends on me?" Rodney laughed.

Jeanie's tone hardened. "I'll tell Mom," she threatened.

The elder McKay let his arms drop to his sides in disbelief. "You. Wouldn't. Dare." A twisted grin spilt Jeanie's face. She opened her mouth as though to shout. Rodney held up his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay, you can help, tattle-tail."

Jeanie's smile widened in triumph. "This is gonna be fun." She turned her back to him and began to study the books once more.

"Yes. Loads of fun," muttered Rodney sarcastically. He swiped and hand across his face. "I'm so a dead man."

His sister glanced up at him. "Did you say something?"

Rodney shook his head. "Nope, nothing. Now, if you'll move so I can get back to work…" He gestured from Jeanie to the desk. She made a small 'O' with her mouth and stepped aside. He sank down into the wooden chair that creaked under his weight and began to read and write once more.

Jeanie saw Mere's obvious attempt at ignoring her, but she wouldn't leave just yet. She sat down on his bed, watching him work for few minutes. As you could imagine, it got very boring, very fast. She decided to fill the dead air. "So… what made you decide to build a bomb for the science fair? I bet you could've made a really cool remote-control robot with blinking lights, and wheels…" she said excitedly.

"Oh please, that is so juvenile." An exasperated Rodney stated. "Anyone with half a brain, which is almost everyone mind you, and a good instruction manual can build one. No one other than me, however, could create anything _near _the level of a weapon of mass destruction." A smug grin touched his lips. "Perhaps I should recommend that they forego wasting the judges' time and simply hand me the award at the start of the fair."

A dreamful look crossed McKay's face as he pictured the scene in his mind's eye. The judges' presenting the enormous golden trophy to him, Langsworth's dejected face as he held the small silver trophy that was given for second place, Linda swooning over Rodney and rushing up the stage to the sound of boisterous applause and kissing him full on the mouth…

"Wow, someone's ego is in overdrive today. At least, more than usual." Jeanie's voice yanked him from his dream world. The sarcasm in her voice was obvious, and Rodney felt that for some reason, he had to defend himself.

"I'm not doing this because my ego needs stroking (not that I would mind if it were to

happen) but because…" Rodney bowed his head. Could really explain to his sister why he so desperately needed to do this? Would she think that it was stupid, or lame? He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Because Linda's says that her friends think I'm a loser so she can't hang out with me but if I can win something and prove that I'm not a loser we can hang out together and… stuff," muttered Rodney. His explanation sounded lame even to his own ears. Not that he thought about it, it was pretty pathetic. He slurred his words together in hopes that his sister wouldn't pursue it. However, his hopes were crushed.

Jeanie grabbed her stomach and laughed, making a show of it. Her howls were much too loud to be natural. Rodney scowled at her in return. "Are you joking? You're building a bomb to impress a girl?!" She snickered. "What were you planning on doing, painting "To Linda from Your Secret Admirer' on it?"

Rodney felt heat rush to his face and knew without that his ears were a bright crimson. As a matter of fact, he _had_ been planning naming it 'Linda'. _Well, that idea's out the window. Time for a Plan B… if I had one. _

Jeanie's jaw dropped in disbelief when she saw the elder McKay's complexion. "Oh no, you weren't really going to, were you?" she asked incredulously.

"No, of course not. That would be completely moronic and totally beneath someone of my intelligence. Naming something after a woman, that's so ludicrous. And for the last time, it's not a bomb, it's a _working model_!" he yelled. Rodney heard the slight waver in his voice, the same one he always got when he was lying.He crossed his arms and glared at his sister, praying that she would believe him.

His younger sibling snorted. "Riiiiight." Jeanie dragged out the 'I' for much to long in Rodney's opinion.

"What, it's the truth!" said Rodney.

"Sure it is, Mere," was her reply. Jeanie sat quietly for a moment on the edge of Meredith's bed. She kicked her legs back and forth while her brother went back to work. For a few peaceful minutes, the only sound in the room was the soft scratching of Rodney's pen on paper.

But predictably, she soon couldn't take the silence any longer. "So… do you really think that building a bomb will make Linda like you?"

Rodney stiffened, but didn't even bother to turn around to glare at Jeanie. What was the point? She'd demand an answer no matter what he said or did. "Well, it's not like I could gather up a local mariachi band and sing her a ballad outside her house, or paint something, or win some barbaric contact sport game and dedicate it to her, or some other point"-

"Maybe you could play something for her on the piano. That's really romantic. Oh, and give her some chocolate! Girls love chocolate! She'd like that sort of thing."

He sighed and let his shoulders slump. "You heard what Mrs. Johnson said. I'm horrible at the piano. 'Never be anything but a technical player at best, can't _feel_ the music, no hope' were her exact words. What would be the point of humiliating myself in front of Linda with a half-way decent performance? She'd genuinely have reason to call me a loser then."

"I though you were good," Jeanie defended.

Rodney snorted and turned in his seat to face her. "Yes, the opinion of an eight year old is highly valued in the music industry. I'm glad for your support." His tone suggested that he was anything but. "Science is the only thing I excel at and this," he waved a hand at the desktop and grinned, "This is the most impressive, positively mind-blowing thing I could think of. Who would have conceived that anyone, other than myself, naturally, could come up with something so spectacular, eh?"

Jeanie exhaled. "We've got to do something about that ego of yours; it's gonna get you in trouble someday, I swear," she murmured.

"Did you say something?" inquired Rodney quizzically.

"Nah, just talking to myself," Jeanie lied.

Rodney raised an eyebrow at his sister, but gestured her over to him. "Yes, well, come here for a sec and look at this." She did so and leaned over his shoulder to see the paper in front of him. He looked at his younger sister and asked, "Are you ready to get to work? I have to warn you, this isn't going to be easy, not by a long shot. It's going to be a busy month." Rodney studied Jeanie, looking for an answer within her blue eyes. "Now, are you _absolutely_ sure that you want to do this?"

Jeanie held eye contact with him for a long moment and nodded. "Of course Mere," she assured. "Lord knows you'll need all the help you can get. Besides," Jeanie shrugged. "maybe we'll have some fun."

A soft smile caressed Meredith's lips. "Anything's possible, I guess." The two siblings grinned, and then returned to the paper. "Now then, here's a list of the supplies we'll need. Most of them we can salvage from the junkyard, but there are some that we're going to have to get creative with…"

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Rodney was correct when he said that the next month was going to be hectic. After few stops to the junkyard and some help from Mr. Riley, they got all of the needed materials. Rooting through the metal fragments for something salvageable was comparable to searching for the proverbial needle in a hay stack. It took three days out of their very tight schedule to collect everything. The genius thought it was ironic that he was building the world's deadliest weapon out of spare car parts and radio bits.

The assembly of the 'working model' was the harder part. The McKay's were very lucky that their father owned a car repair/hardware store and allowed his children to use the tools there. Mr. McKay knew that his kids wouldn't do anything stupid with it; he realized that they were working on some school project. Meredith and Jeanie weren't the types to do something foolish anyway. As a matter of fact, he was just glad to have them out of his hair and working together.

Rodney did most of the delicate - and heavy - labor, wielding the larger pieces together, and used the small soldering gun on wiring and things of that sort. Yup, he put his own sweat, blood and tears into this thing (and in that order. Trust me; you don't want to know. Let's just say that when you combine a klutz who hasn't slept in two days and sharp objects, bad things happen). Jeanie, who was by far the better artist, helped make the posters Rodney would use in his presentation.

For two very different types of people, Rodney thought that he and Jeanie worked well together. The month passed by in a pleasant blur, and the atomic bomb was completed. Jeanie had convinced him to paint it a dark green with black letters. She said that it was good for the presentation and after a few choice insults, he relented. They dubbed the bomb 'Senior' in tradition of the first three atomic bombs: 'Fat Boy', 'Little Man' and 'Junior'.

As the last coat of black paint began to dry on the smooth metal shell, the siblings stepped back and observed their masterpiece in the dim light of the work area. The meter long oval hunk of steel seemed to them to be 'the most beautiful thing in the whole wide world' as the young girl stated. Jeanie hugged Rodney around his waist, brimming with pride.

"It's absolutely gorgeous! Linda's going to love it," exclaimed Jeanie.

Rodney looked down at his sister who was still tightly embracing him, and looked to the gray concrete ceiling for deliverance from this awkward situation. He gingerly patted Jeanie on the back and turned his gaze back to 'Senior'. "You really think she'll like it?" He asked.

Jeanie broke away from him (_Thank God. It's about time_, thought Rodney) to get a better view of Meredith's face. "If she's really the kind of person you think she is, Mere, she'll be able to see how hard you worked on it and love it for that, whether she likes it or not," was her reply.

Rodney nodded, his attention focused elsewhere.

Would Linda like it? Was it possible that he would win the fair? Nevertheless, one thing was certain:

It was going to be a very interesting science fair.

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**TBC**

_Please take a moment of your time to review. It really does make my day. I should be able to get the next chapter out soon, but I am jumping back and forth b/t two very different stories. _


	4. The Science Fair

_A/N Greetings all! Thank you to everyone who gave me such great reviews, they really make my day. Please R&R! So, without further ado, here it is, the moment you've all been waiting for…_

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**Chapter Four: The Science Fair**

For the twenty-eighth time in the past five minutes (Jeanie had counted) Meredith glanced at his watched nervously, crossed his arms, wiped away the beads of sweat glistening on his forehead, scanned the enormous gymnasium anxiously, and began again.

"Would you relax, Mere?" Jeanie asked.

"Yes, because this is no big deal, it won't matter later in life and all of the other idiotic maxims that I have no interest in hearing. Why don't you tell me something that actually matters, or are you going to continue trying to fill the parental guidance vacuum created by Dad's absence?" mocked Rodney. (Their parents had announced that they would not be at the science fair or even in town. There was some kind of car show in Montreal that they simply couldn't miss, leaving the children home alone.)

"Fine, ignore my sage advice." She said, irritated with her brother's snark.

"Well, if you say so," he haughtily responded.

She cursed herself for walking right into that one. Jeanie had to forgive Mere's attitude, just a little. He put a lot of pressure on himself with his high expectation of winning not only the fair, but Linda's heart in one fell swoop. He'd been anxious all morning, snapping at anyone who got in his way, which was usually Jeanie. But under the hostile façade, she knew he was frightened. She hoped that it would work out for him. Lord knew that with all the crap going on in his life, he deserved it. What really concerned her was what would happen if it didn't…

The siblings had set up the science 'exhibit' just over a half an hour ago. The A-bomb was considerably heavy and finding a way to lug it to the table had been a challenge. The McKays also brought posters that would aid Rodney in his presentation and promptly covered all of them (including the bomb—um, working model) with sheets so no one could observe the project before its debut. Rodney said that he didn't want anyone to see it before the judges came to their booth at which time he 'would unveil his masterpiece'.

It was neither the presentation nor the actual exhibit that had Jeanie worried, but its creator and presenter. Using her peripheral vision, she glanced at her brother's stiff and sweaty form. Her frowned deepened as she noted that he was slightly shaking and how pale he was. It could just be simple nerves but…

Rodney had been so nervous about the upcoming science fair, that the only thing he had consumed today was coffee, not the best choice for a hypoglycemic. Jeanie didn't fully understand her brother's condition, except that he had to eat regularly or he could go into shock, something Meredith assured her was very bad. She walked over to the backpack that she had brought just in case, and rifled through it. Power bar in hand, Jeanie strode over to the fretting genius and held it out to him.

"Eat," commanded the petite eight year old, using the most intimidating voice she could muster.

"What am I, seven? You're younger than me and therefore, have no right to order me around." Rodney turned away from Jeanie and gazed at the sea of people. "Besides… I'm not hungry."

Jeanie snorted. "That's the worst lie I've ever heard. You're _always_ hungry. Now stop being such a wuss and eat." She leaned closer to him and stretched her arm out, dangling the bar by his face. "Come on, its chocolate peanut butter, your favorite. Wouldn't want it to go to waste now would you?"

The genius tilted his head slightly and eyed the object for a moment. "Well… when you put it like that…" In a flash, Rodney ripped the bar from his sister's grasp and shucked off the foil. He crammed half of it into his mouth and began to chew enthusiastically. Jeanie smiled at her brother. Though Mere denied it, he was very predictable.

Rodney had just swallowed the last bite when he noticed a group of girls enter the gym. They were had to miss; their loud and slightly obnoxious laughter carried over the rest of the babble emanating from the room. Linda and her gang strutted into the room like they owned the place. Carefully styled hair flowed in the wind from the open door. Low cut and tight shirts were all the advertisement they needed to get attention. Every male in the vicinity turned their heads with eyes wide and mouths agape.

The genius dropped the wrapper and made no move to catch it. Linda's very high skirt showing perfectly sculpted thighs was all he could see. He watched her observe the surroundings like a predator for searching for prey, which was appropriate considering any guy would kill for a piece of that.

McKay figured that the only reason that they would be dressed like that would be to attract the interest of the high school guys who were in the competition. It was working quite well. Several of the hockey members were already making their way through the crowd of onlookers to the very gorgeous girls. Rodney snapped out of his trance and realized that this was his only chance to get a word in with Linda before she became preoccupied with… other matters.

He scooted though the multitude just as his sister began to speak to him. Mere didn't pay much attention, though the words "slut" and "air-headed blond tramp" caught his ear before he went beyond the hearing range. Who could Jeanie possibly be talking about? Rodney decided that he'd figure it out later. As the got closer to Linda, he ran a hand through his hair, did a quick breath check and pronounced himself fit to be in her presence.

The geek walked up to her cautiously and gave an awkward wave. "Hey, Linda. You look…" _Sexy? Hot? Drop dead gorgeous?_ "… great." Rodney cursed himself for not being able to come up with something later.

Linda hid a scowl of disgust behind a plastered-on smile. She forced herself to be cheerful and polite to the freak. His hair was even messier than normal, though whether it was the result of a pathetic attempt at style or a simple lack of hygiene, Linda didn't know. And frankly, she didn't care. "Hey Rodney, great seeing you here." She glanced fleetingly at the direction the boy had just come from, doing her best to ignore the spiteful whispers coming from her friends. "Do you have a booth nearby?"

Rodney beamed at the mention of his project. "Oh yeah, it's right over there." He rotated and pointed at his booth where his sister was currently standing, arms crossed and not looking at all pleased. He ignored her. "But, uh, don't go over there just yet. I, um, am keeping my exhibit a secret for the moment, until the judges come. You know, saving the best for last, the grand finale and so on."

The blond nodded and tried to look interested at what the nerd was saying, but all the while looking for a way to get away from him. Why did Rodney think she cared? Oh yeah, that's right, because she made the stupid mistake of taking a dare to talk with the geek for five minutes. Ever since then, he leapt at every opportunity to talk to her, the creepy little stalker. "Ahh, that's a clever idea," commented Linda.

"Yes, well, it's all part of my _brilliant_ plan, if I may say so," bragged Rodney. "Make sure to be there when I uncover it. I think you're going to like it," he added.

"I can't wait to see it," Linda said enthusiastically, not meaning a word. At that moment, Langsworth, the hottest guy under the age of eighteen, appeared with her in his sights. "I gotta go, Rodney, see you later." She turned her back to him, thankful to be rid of the loser at last.

Rodney grinned and gave another wave as she walked away from him and stood in front of Langsworth, obviously flirting with him. His stomach dropped at the sight, but he brought himself a small comfort knowing that in a few minutes, that would all change. He would win the science fair and it would be _him_ that Linda wanted to talk to. She'd talk to him all the time and sit with him at lunch and they'd do all sorts of things together.

Right?

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Rodney swallowed with a dry mouth and quivering hands. This was it, the moment had arrived, or rather, the judges had. The students had gathered around his booth out of sheer curiosity; they wanted to see what the school's genius had come up with. The three teachers, who served as judges for the fair (Mrs. James, Mr. Stevenson, and Mr. Cromwell) stood at the front of the crowd with their clipboards in hand. Their pens were raised just above the paper, as though barely restraining themselves from writing.

"Go ahead, Meredith," urged an excited Mrs. James. She used a free hand to push up her large glasses and peered at the boy, eagerly waiting for his presentation. He flinched at the use of his first name and the snickers that followed.

He swallowed again and looked to his sister for reassurance. Jeanie gave him a large grin filled with pride. She made the 'thumbs up' signal and mouthed for him to go on. Rodney forced a small smile and took a deep breath, preparing himself to say the lines he had been rehearsing for almost a month.

"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls," Rodney paused for a moment as he spotted Linda and her cohorts in the crowd. She smiled at him and gestured for him to continue. Delight made his chest swell and he stood up straighter. When he spoke again, his voice was loud and no longer wavered. "I present to you…" He grabbed the sheet and yanked it off it one motion. "… the Rodney McKay atomic bomb!"

The crowd gasped as the cloth slid off the metal hull of the bomb. The dark green oval was an iconic and unmistakable shape. They all took a step back as one and fell instantly silent. The judges were all slack jawed as they gazed at it. Rodney took this as a good sign, that he had made a real impression on the crowd.

He continued: "My A-bomb is an implosion type that would use an explosive force in order to create supercritical mass and make it go 'Boom!' if you will." The audience jumped at his 'sound effect' but Rodney didn't notice. He also didn't see a man in the back get out his cell phone in such a rush that he almost dropped it and hurriedly began to dial. "I designed this with my own modifications that I believe could significantly improve atomic warfare as we know it." He pointed at one of his posters as the man in the back began to speak frantically into his cell.

"The spiracle encasement directs the explosive forces inward resulting in an implosion creates extreme compression. Subcritical mass becomes supercritical." Rodney began to speak quickly, his voice brimming with excitement. "An atomic bomb uses diffusion to create an implosion that results in the classical 'mushroom' cloud and the immense radiation and heat that makes weapons such as the one in front of you," he waved a hand at the 'working model'. "One of the most deadly weapons on earth." The audience didn't comprehend the techno babble, but they understood the last part all too clearly.

Rodney smiled proudly and glanced at the judges to see their reactions. All three were totally still save Mrs. James, who was gulping like a fish out of water. _Catatonic at my brilliance and paralyzed with my spectacular design. Not exactly the reactions I had expected, but acceptable nonetheless. _The genius scowled as he heard the man on the phone for the first time. He was waving around the room frantically and practically yelling into the device.

Rodney wanted to tell him to be quiet, but ignored him and continued with the presentation. "What was I saying? Ah yes, diffusion. When you separate the two thirty five from the two thirty eight, you remove the barrier between two substances the slight difference in their mass causing them to separate at difference rates. This initiates a fission reaction…" He continued his lecture on Atomic Weapons 101 for several more minutes to a crowd that was stunned into a stupor.

The genius's speech was interrupted by at least three or four dozen armored SWAT or Bomb Squad (he couldn't tell which) members bursting into the gym. From behind thick plastic shields, they yelled for everyone to get out of the gym. The sea of people rushed out the nearby doors like a dam being unleashed, several of the women screaming as they ran. Rodney stood rooted to the ground behind his model A-bomb as the armed men headed his way, guns raised. He glanced at Jeanie's direction, but she was already gone, swept away by the multitude.

Rodney's mind was still spinning as the men approached him and yelled, "Freeze! Don't move!" He half expected them to pronounce him under arrest, like on the American cop shows. Staring down the barrels of their M-16s, he did the only reasonable thing he could think of. He raised his hands and said, "Whatever you think I did, I didn't do it." A man walked through the lines of black armor with a device held out, one which Rodney recognized something police use to detect radiation.

The reason for this commotion clicked in his mind. "Oh my God, you think this is a real bomb, don't you? It's just a"-

The man held up a fist and glared at him angrily. Rodney took the hint and shut up and the police officer approached his science fair project, the gadget making clicking noises in his hand as he waved it over the model. The boy instantly knew what was causing the radiation spikes the policeman was detecting. "I used an old microwave in the construction and there must be left over radiation inside. There is no"- he was interrupted by the appearance of more cops.

The two officers were not dressed in the full body armor and shield, but were clad in simple 'street clothes' and a standard issue bullet proof vest with the letters 'CIA' painted on them in a bright yellow. _Uh, oh, that is so not a good sign. _

The leading CIA agent, a pretty brunette, took out her badge and held it out for Rodney to see. "I'm Special Agent Spade, and this is Special Agent Hampton," she said, tilting her head at the man next to her. "Are you Meredith McKay?"

He nodded. "It's Rodney, and what the heck is going on?" questioned the boy.

Special Agent Hampton stepped forward. "Rodney, I need you to step away from the bomb slowly and come with us." He spoke very carefully and calmly, as though the boy would go off like a bomb, no pun intended.

The genius recognized the patronizing tone but refused to play along. "I've done nothing wrong! Now will someone tell me what is happening!" demanded Rodney.

The CIA agent would have none of it. "We'll explain everything to you later, but you have to come with us _now._" Hampton emphasized. With all of the firepower aimed at him, he knew that there was no way he was testing that unspoken threat.

Rodney relented, moving in front of his project and started to walk to them, hands still in the air. He turned around to glance at his exhibit once more just as the Bomb Squad began to open it and peer at the contents. "Hey, hey, don't damage that! It took me a full month to build that!" protested the wanna-be physicist.

Spade put a firm hand on his shoulder and steered him away from the A-bomb and towards the doors where an armored truck was waiting outside, as were several different branches of the press and townspeople. "That bomb and all of your other project materials have been classified by the United States government. You are now in US custody until further notice."

He hand no time to protest before he was guided out into the parking lot by the Special Agents. The newscasters started barraging him with questions and cameras began snapping photos of him, the flash momentarily blinding him. _That's going to give me retinal scarring. Just what I need to make this truly the worst day ever, to get arrested and to go blind. _

The CIA pushed him onward, uttering "No comment" occasionally. Rodney couldn't understand any of the questions the press were asking, but the words "terrorist" and "atomic bomb" drifted over to him. He was about to ask Spade what they meant, but he was forced into the van before he could utter a word.

Special Agent Spade sat down next to him on the cold, hard metal bench as Hampton slid the door shut and instructed the driver to take them away. The engine revved and the van began to move. To what destination, Rodney didn't know, but had a feeling that he wasn't going to be pleasant. He glanced around the vehicle and at the two adults studying him, their faces unreadable.

_I'm such a dead man. _

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**TBC**

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_A/N There it is! Done at last! Now please, review and tell me how much you're looking forward to the next part… or not. What did you think? Kind of cheesy, cool, somewhere in the middle? Let me know!_


	5. Road Trip!

_A/N Hey everybody! Sorry I took so long to update. The plot bunnies have infested my brain with several different ideas that distract me from my current ones. On another note, I originally wanted to skip this chapter and go straight to Rodney's interrogation, but I liked it I decided to include it. This chapter acts as a sort of bridge with my next one, but I hope you enjoy it anyways. Pretty please with sugar on top Read &Reviews!_

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**Chapter Five: Road Trip!**

Ever since Rodney watched his first spy movies, he was suspicious of windowless, unmarked vans. His mother said it was childish, and maybe it was, but the fear still remained. Afterall, who knew what was inside those 'inconspicuous' trucks? Now that he was in one of them with two real-life _CIA_ agents heading to an undisclosed location, his paranoia grew. The worst part of it was that he was claustrophobic, something he made painfully clear to the two government employees.

Rodney felt the white-washed metal walls closing in and he could almost smell the carbon dioxide levels rising. It took all of his concentration not to start sweating and freaking out. _Wide open spaces,_ became his mantra during these situations, and he repeated it over and over again until the adults could stand it no longer. They let him sit so he could see the windshield and the 'wide, open spaces' just outside.

The boy breathed a sigh of relief. Looking out the window helped him relax during these situations, taking comfort in the simple fact that he wasn't totally boxed in. Thankfully, the ride was a short one. Spade and Hampton escorted him out onto what he instantly recognized was an airplane landing strip.

A thin ribbon of concrete extended out for nearly a quarter mile, with the pavement cracked and chipped in several places, weeds taking root in the crevices. Beside it was a rusted hangar that showed obvious signs of abuse from the elements. A small control tower stood the closest to him, with radio antennae sticking out arbitrarily and unwashed windows covering the sides. Rodney was surprised that the people working inside could direct the planes through the filthy glass, but after taking a quick glimpse around the dilapidated 'airport', he thought that it wasn't much of a concern. It didn't look like this place got much business.

Resting on the runway was a private jet, too small for Rodney's liking. It looked to be about a ten passenger carrier at the most, pilots not included. Numbers ran through his mind as he began to calculate the approximate area of the tiny plane, which wasn't much. He quickly noted the minuscule holes and the brownish-orange flecks of rust on the engines and other parts of the metal, feeling his dread rise. Times like this made being a genius suck; people blissfully unaware of the plane's dangerous imperfections would have gone on without a care in the world. Of course, when the plane fell out of the sky with engines ablaze, they would be horribly aware of it. Maybe being a genius wasn't so bad after all.

Rodney was silently begging all the deities that he wouldn't have to board the next CNN headline in the making. But sure enough, Spade took a loose but firm grip of his shoulder and began to direct him to the death trap. The boy was certain that someone up there was laughing their heads off at him. He stopped right in his tracks resisting Spade's attempts to keep pushing him along.

"Oh, no, I am not getting on that tragedy waiting to happen," proclaimed Rodney.

Spade sighed and cast a pleading glance at her partner for help. Hampton shrugged, stating without saying a word that he wasn't getting involved. Rodney stood by watching, wondering how people could have a conversation without uttering a noise. She turned her attention back to him. "You are getting on that plane and you will sit there quietly until we arrive." Her voice was hard and full of agitation. Rodney guessed that she was at her wits end after the van ride.

A small whisper in the back of his mind told him that aggravating CIA agents with weapons capable of blowing his brilliant brain out of his skull was a bad idea.

He told the voice to shove it, throwing caution and good sense to the wind. "There's no way I'm getting on that glorified tin can! The rust on the engine and the bleached paint, indicate that it hasn't been maintained in a while, or was it always white with baby blue stripes? Just incase you didn't know, things tend to _break _when they sit in the driveway for a long time! There's no chance"-

"Meredith, Rodney, whatever the heck your name is…" The stressed agent attempted to take a deep, soothing breath through tight jaw muscles in an effort to rein in her frustration. "By order of the US government, you _are_ getting on that plane, willingly or not."

Rodney snorted at the threat, infuriating Spade even more. "What, are you going to say 'we can do this the easy way, or the hard way'? Have you been watching too much _Cagney & Lacey _lately? Cause this is too reminiscent of the good cop, bad cop cliché for me. I suppose you can relate to Cagney; she wasn't a real people loving type of person, either. Let me guess, you don't have a significant other? See, you two do have something in common! " The humor on his face hardened with resolve. "You could shoot me for all I care but I am not"- He stopped when he noticed Spade's expression.

Her face was a bright red and getting darker with every passing moment. Spade's arms were tight at her sides, fists coiled and shaking with anger. It wasn't that much of a stretch of imagination to picture steam coming out of her ears. Rodney had never believed in spontaneous combustion, until he laid eyes on the woman in front of him. Spade looked like she would blow any moment.

Rodney unconsciously took a step back. _I didn't know the human face was capable of turning that color… _He shifted his paranoia from the aircraft to the livid woman. It didn't take a genius to figure out that Rodney hit a tender spot. When his mother got that look, he knew that was in it deep and should get the coroner on standby. Mrs. McKay never did anything too serious, though; usually Rodney just got slapped. However, in the case of the gun-slinging CIA agent, he doubted that he'd get off that easy. Maybe he shouldn't have mentioned shooting…

"Get. In. The. Plane. NOW," ground out Spade from behind clenched teeth. Hampton was getting worried about his partner's mental state and figured that it would be best if the boy went along quickly and quietly. He had first hand experience that angry women trained to kill aren't the best people to be around unless you want to get your butt seriously whooped.

He strode over to Rodney, effectively standing between him and the death glares from Spade. "Hey, Rodney, let's say we get in the plane now, huh?" Hampton pushed the boy towards the aircraft before he could respond. He glanced over his shoulder at the infuriated woman. Her skin was slowly returning to a normal, human shade. He sent her a 'chill out will you? He's just a kid' look to which Spade simply glared at him; not an 'I will make your head explode through sheer force of will' death glare, more of a 'Shut up' glare. Hampton hoped that was a good sign.

Beside the man, Rodney groaned as the space between them and the small jet shortened with every step. The wear and tear was all too visible from this close distance. "Out of the frying pan and into the fire, eh?" he murmured morbidly.

Hampton gave him a fierce look and said, "Do you have a death wish? If so, say that a little louder so Spade can hear you."

Rodney looked over the larger man's form to where Spade was still fuming but attempting to calm down. She noticed him looking at her and sent him stare full of rage. "You'd really think she'd… I mean she might consider it, but you don't"-

The CIA agent hid a smile with a gloomy nod. "If you keep pushing her," he cautioned, trying to hide his humor at the kid's nervous swallow.

As the three neared the jet, Rodney tensed and let out a small moan. "We're all going to die. The faulty engine will probably cause an explosion that rips a chunk out of this junk heap. The sudden decompression will suck us all into the open air where we'll have about five seconds to contemplate whether or not you can feel the pain of every bone and tissue in your body being reduced to homogenous goo when you hit the ground. Or worse, we'll survive the fall and be crippled for life, nothing more than a burden, forced to depend on friends, family, and ill trained hospital staff to care for us." He groaned pathetically.

Hampton looked at the boy incredulously. "You're a real ray of sunshine, ya know that?"

"No, I just have no preconceived assumptions that nothing tragic or horrible can happen to me, unlike most of the human species I might add. Besides, the one time I don't think anything will go wrong will probably be the time it does. Karma sucks like that," stated Rodney.

Hampton gestured for the boy to go up the few steps into the jet. Rodney glanced once more at the still agitated form of Spade before taking a deep breath and walking up the thin metal steps that shook with every move he made. After his back was turned, Hampton noiselessly exhaled and massaged his temples with one hand. _That, my friends, is one strange, very disturbed boy. _He gazed at Rodney slowly making his way up the four oxidized steps, his arms extended like the poles thin-wire walkers use.

After Rodney finally made it inside the jet, Hampton followed him with Spade on his heels. As soon as all three were inside, Spade slammed the jet door close and locked it. She glanced at the cockpit and said, "Let's get this over with. Fire it up!" The three sat down and buckled themselves in. Rodney sat by himself a few rows in front of the CIA agents, which everyone wordlessly agreed was for the best.

Rodney gripped the edges of the arm rests so firmly his knuckles turned white under the stain. The blunt metal edge was digging into soft flesh but he was too terrified to notice the small twinges of pain. He shut his eyes to keep himself from imagining that the itty bitty plane was shrinking. There was only about a foot and a half of space between his seat and the one in front of it. The cockpit was only a few steps away and the CIA agents were sitting three rows and about six feet away. Everything was cramped. The 'sardines in a can' analogy fit all too well.

When the engines turned on, the roar filled the plane and made it vibrate so fiercely that he could feel his teeth rattling. "OhGodohGodohGodohGodohGod"- he repeated without consciously doing it. Rodney couldn't think past the images his mind was conjuring up: fireballs kindled by ridiculously flammable jet fuel, corroded nuts and bolts fatally loosening from the shuddering…

Hampton looked at the boy with a face creased with worry. Rodney was pale and his faint cry was barely audible but distressing all the same. He was barely breathing. Hampton had a grandfather with an anxiety disorder, and recognized that Rodney was having a panic attack. The government agent attempted to unbuckle his seat belt when a firm hand grabbed his wrist, stopping him.

Spade made eye contact with her partner. "Stay seated, the plane's about to take off," she commanded.

Hampton glanced back at the obviously pained boy. "Are you kidding?" he asked. "Look at the kid; he's scared to death! Someone should"-

The woman cut him off. "He'll get over it," she stated, her voice flat and devoid of emotion, but he eyes revealed a glint of resentment. Spade hadn't forgotten nor forgiven Rodney's unintentionally personal insult.

He was about to argue with her when he heard the pilot's. Speakers weren't necessary in this tiny aircraft; all he had to do was shout slightly and they all could hear him just fine. "This is Captain O'Neill who will be, well, your captain for the next hour or so. Please remain seated until I say so, and prepare for take off." The roar of the engines increased and the plane began to speed down the runway.

Rodney still held onto the armrests for dear life. His breath came in quick gasps and his heart was doing a good impression of a timpani, beating so hard against his ribs that he thought they would crack under the pressure. The plane was shaking even worse as it gained the momentum necessary for lift. He knew the physics behind the flight of an airplane, but he fleetingly wondered what the takeoff would feel like.

As the plane's wheels slowly but steadily began to free themselves of gravity's pull, Rodney categorized what he was feeling and went over the science behind it. Positive G-forces were pushing his body deeper into the foam seat as the aircraft clawed its way skyward, leaving the safe, solid ground far below. Rodney knew that the clogging sensation in his ears was the result of the sudden gain in altitude and would eventually pass.

Stepping back and noting the simple aero-dynamics was surprisingly comforting. Equations and laws passed through his mind's eye as he slowly felt his breathing deepen and his heart rate slow. When he felt the plane level off, Rodney cracked an eyelid and glanced around the cabin. They were still alive. He let it close once more and exhaled in relief. The genius knew that the worst part was over, and now they would only have to survive the actual flight and landing, but he was slightly more confident. If the plane could survive takeoff, there was a good chance it would land safely, right?

He gathered up some courage and glanced out the small window. White, fluffy clouds and azure sky surrounded them for as far as his eye could see, and down below, land and structures rushed by them. He never understood what appealed to people about flying, but now he got it. The sight was breathtaking.

A brown haired head poked out of the cockpit and looked at him. The man had to be somewhere in his middle to late thirties, and Rodney assumed that this was Captain O' whatever.

The pilot gave him a cocky grin. "Hey there, sport. First time flying, eh?" Rodney nodded. "Well, I don't have a co-pilot, so you wanna fill in?" he asked.

Rodney tilted his head in thought. "Isn't there always supposed to be a pilot and co-pilot?" he asked, worried. Great, now this hunk of junk had inadequate staff to add to the list of flaws.

The pilot turned around and shrugged. "They just grabbed me and told me I had to come fly you and those CIA guys down to the States. Heck, I'm technically on leave. But I guess that's never stopped the CIA from doin' whatever they want. Personally, I'm not a big fan of secret government organizations that don't play by the rules, but what do I know, I'm just a Captain."

This American military guy intrigued Rodney, so he decided to go to the cockpit. He unbuckled his seat belt and quickly went to the even smaller cockpit. Standing up and walking in the moving plane was a strange feeling, but it passed as soon as he sat down in the chair next to the pilot. The only thing that made up for the lack of space in the cockpit were the almost panoramic windows. He strapped himself into the large co-pilot's seat and gazed at the numerous buttons and switches that controlled the plane.

O'Neill noticed the kid's fascination and asked, "You know what all this stuff does?"

Rodney glanced up from his inspection. "I understand the basic principle behind it, but I don't know the finer points, so no, I guess," he replied.

The flyboy's curiosity was piqued at this small boy who spoke like an adult. He had a feeling that there was a big story behind the reason he was with two CIA agents whom he knew specialized in sniffing out terrorists. "You wanna learn?"

The boy instantly perked up and nodded. O'Neill smiled and pointed to a button just above him and to the right, "Now this one over here…"

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In the back of the plane, Hampton watched as the boy genius gazed out the window and was summoned into the cockpit, indirectly allowing the two CIA agents to have a private conversation. He shifted in his seat to look at his partner. "What the heck was that about?" he asked.

Spade rifled through her pockets, avoiding eye contact. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Like heck you do. Get your head out of your butt and quick acting like a jerk. He doesn't need that kind of treatment from you, especially if you want him to cooperate," declared Hampton.

His partner snorted. "That kid is Satan's little helper, I swear. Nice little boys don't build nuclear bombs, and they sure as heck don't talk back like that. If I were his mother—and thank God I'm not—I would slapped him a few times myself, the demon spawn."

Hampton could have said many, many things in response to that, but something Spade said in the midst of the insults got his attention. "You really think he's one of them? A kid like that workin' for"-

Spade pulled out a cigarette. Holding the cigarette in her front teeth, she spoke around it and searched for her lighter. "He's a disgruntled, abused kid, not popular at school, and has no friends. He's the perfect target for them," she said.

The CIA agent leaned back in thought. "He's so young, though. I know that they usually recruit teens, but he's twelve for cryin' out loud."

Hampton watched his partner light the cigarette and breathe in deeply before exhaling the smoke. It was a disgusting, dirty habit in his opinion, but one of Spade's quirks that he had learned to deal with over the past few years they had been working together. "The kid's a frikin' genius. That alone would make up for his age."

Spade heard him sigh. "Is there any evidence besides the"-

"Hampton." Spade's sharp tone made him turn to look at her. "We found the missing plan _in his room_. Right there, lying on the desk in plain sight. He used it to build a darn good bomb, with some improvements we've never seen before. It's bigger and better than anything we have, and that's a disturbing thought."

Hampton balked. "He has the missing diagram of the original A-bomb? The same one that…"

"…disappeared over a month ago? The one that the League took credit for stealing? The one that we've been trying to get a hold of before the League gets a chance to build it? It's the same one. Identical water marks and it now bears the League's emblem. There's no way the kid got his hands on it unless he has a contact within the League, or he's a member of it. Your boy's no angel, that's for certain." Spade stated, taking another puff of her cigarette before reclining in her seat, finally showing signs of calming down.

The CIA agent's mind was reeling. He tried to picture Rodney with the violent terrorist group, but he couldn't make a connection between the two. The evidence was there, but surely… "What if he accidentally got it? Ya know, a 'wrong place, wrong time' scenario?"

Spade gave a humorless laugh before taking another puff of her cigarette. "Please. That kind of thing only happens in movies and cheap TV shows. He has the plan, built a bomb and made it better than anything else on the planet. Once is a fluke, twice is a coincidence, but three times is a pattern, my friend. Don't you think we thought this through before we sent half the force into a freakin' gymnasium?"

Hampton conceded defeat and nodded. "I still believe that there's more to it than that," he added.

Spade chuckled. "You keep thinkin' that. I'll give you the full report after the nuclear science geeks get their hands on the bomb and Matt interrogates the boy. Somehow, I think the kid is going to be with us for a long, long time."

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Up in the cockpit, Rodney was happier than he had been in a while. He knew that his face was aglow with excitement as he turned his mind to 'sponge mode' and absorbed everything O'Neill said. The boy was practically giddy as he learned how the plane operated and how to control it. He was no longer afraid of the plane exploding. Obviously sensing the boy's fear of crashing, the first things O'Neill taught to Rodney were about the warnings the pilot would receive and what he could do if the worst happened.

O'Neill watched the kid study the control's like, well, a kid in a candy store. His eyes were lit up with glee as he continued to learn. The boy caught on fast. He was smart too, the scary kind of smart that tended to make the simple military man a bit nervous. He listened to the boy's questions, answering them as best as he could, until he started asking about the laws of physics and computer stuff. When the kid got the hint that O'Neill had no idea what he was talking abut, he stopped asking those sorts of things, and the cockpit fell into silence.

After a few moments, O'Neill's curiosity got the best of him and he asked, "So, what's your name, kid?"

The boy looked up at him and answered, "Rodney McKay. You're Captain O'Neill, right?"

The pilot cringed, faking to be insulted at Rodney's question. "Oh no, don't call me that. It makes me sound too formal. I'm on leave, remember? Call me Jack."

"Jack," said Rodney slowly, as though he was trying out the name. The cockpit returned to the silence for a bit longer until Rodney jerked up, sniffing the air of all things. "What's that smell?" he asked.

O'Neill cocked an eyebrow at him. "What smell?"

Rodney took several quick breaths, before slowly turning to the cabin. Jack followed his gaze and saw that one of the CIA agents, a very attractive brunette, was smoking. His smile fell at the sight. He was about to say a snarky comment when Rodney beat him to it.

"Hello? What the heck do you think doing? Don't you grasp the concept of 'highly flammable jet fuel' or was it too many words for you? Here's something I'm sure that even someone of your intelligence could understand: spark plus jet fuel equals big boom! Big boom bad! Very, very bad!" mocked McKay.

Jack blinked a few times in shock. He'd never expect a kid to say something like that. In response, Spade just took a deep breath of her cigarette and exhaled the black smoke in their direction. The boy's face wrinkled in disgust as the pilot turned around. He decided that it was better not to mess with the secret agent types, something he thought Rodney should learn quickly.

"I hope you have fun in chemotherapy, jerk," murmured Rodney.

"Little harsh don't cha think?" asked Jack. The boy simply shrugged and looked out the window. Uncomfortable silence descended again, but this time it was the pilot who broke the it. Without looking at the lad, he questioned, "So, what did you do to land yourself with those tight-wads?" Jack had been pondering why the CIA was so desperate to fly a Canadian kid down to a secret base in the northwest United States ASAP.

Rodney shrugged again. "I don't know. I think it might have to do with the A-bomb I built."

Jack looked over at the boy incredulously. He didn't appear to be joking. "You built a what?! They let you do that in Canada?!" he asked perhaps a little too loudly, because the CIA agents both glared in their direction, listening. Jack was too flabbergasted to notice, though.

The genius sighed. "For the last time, it was a _working model_! Not even 'working' per se! It had no radioactive material, no way to detonate it, nothing that could harm anybody! I made sure that it was completely safe!" The CIA agents heard that very clearly. That was classified pending the ongoing investigation, and not for some flyboy's ears. Hampton was the first to get up and walked over to them, poking his head inside the small space.

"What's our ETA, Captain?" he asked, clearly giving Rodney the 'shut up' glare.

Jack took the hint and checked. "About fifteen minutes," he responded evenly.

Hampton nodded and sent the boy one more look before returning to his seat. The cockpit was deathly quiet again.

"So… do you like football?" inquired Jack, trying to find some common ground with the strange boy.

Rodney raised a lone eye brow at him. "I'm Canadian," he said, as though that explained everything.

"Oh," responded Jack. "Hockey, then?" he tried.

Rodney just sighed and looked out the windows.

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Fifteen minutes later, the private jet landed on yet another small runway. When its three passengers exited the plane, a black, windowless van waited for them nearby. A man in a black suit with matching tie held the sliding door open for them. There were several bulky, intimidating men in identical black suits already sitting in the van. Rodney was forced to sit down into the cramped space between two of the larger ones. The behemoths stared down at the small boy from behind reflective dark sunglasses.

He tried to smile back, but his face muscles just twitched pathetically. A small whimper escaped his lips as he forgot about claustrophobia and began to worry about physical harm rather than psychological trauma. As the other CIA agents sat down on the bench in front of him and the van began to move towards its unknown destination, Rodney muttered, "I'm a dead man."

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**TBC**

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A/N Coming up next, the answers to all your burning questions about Rodney's capture! Please take a moment and review, it makes my day and gives me incentive to write faster ;) _

_Oh, btw, I don't have a beta, so would anyone be interested in being one for my story, drop me a line. All I'd ask you to do is read through my chapters before I update them and let me know what sucks and/or doesn't make sense. If you're a fan of my fanfic, the bonus will be reading it before everyone else! So there's my little advertisement. Feel free to ignore it. But review anyway!_


	6. Interrogation Part One

_A/N Here's the next chapter! I had originally planning on focusing on one aspect of this but decided to split it up and make the interrogation two parts instead. Thanks to my wonderful, awesome betas TexasMom and Gremblin, this fanfic wouldn't be as good without you. Please R&R people! _

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**Chapter Six: Interrogation Part One**

The drive to wherever the heck they were going was fairly quick and very silent. When Rodney had been traveling with Hampton and Spade, there was a sense of urgency and rush. Now there was a mounting tension; he could feel it radiating from the 'newbies' in the van with him and even from the two familiar agents. The men in the black suits kept staring down at him, studying him, for what he wasn't sure, but quickly looked away when they saw Rodney staring back at them.

Before long, the ride was over. With a swift efficiency that came with years of practice, the government agents opened the sliding metal door and stepped out, one standing on either side of the door. Rodney was told to get up and he did so, helped outside by the CIA agents beside the door. The mammoths that he was forced to sit in between followed him outside, remaining close by like bodyguards.

They were located in the middle of a large mountain range, where pine trees covered the earth for as far as the eye could see. Built right in the middle of the wilderness was a gray concrete building that stuck out like a sore thumb in the midst of the untamed wild, something completely unnatural in the midst of all this nature. A metal fence surrounded the structure, with a guard tower keeping watch over all who entered and exited this place. Rodney noticed both American and Canadian soldiers alike walking purposefully around the compound.

The monstrous man to his right tapped Rodney lightly on one shoulder and gestured him to follow a soldier in a camouflaged uniform. The boy trailed after the military man with his 'entourage' at his heels. As they walked towards a door to the interior of the compound, which was held open for him by another uniformed soldier, Rodney tried to take in everything at once to try and piece together where he was.

Inside the compound, everything was monotonous and reminded Rodney of a hospital, but without the blathering idiots and nauseating antiseptic smell. The walls, ceiling, and floor were almost identical shades of white. Florescent lights gave an almost eerie luminescence to the colorless walls and the polished linoleum floors reflected the bright light. As he walked down the narrow hallway, several men and women in the black suits, uniformed soldiers, and scientists in white lab coats passed by them without giving him as much as a second glance.

That subtle lack of eye contact or reaction on the faces of the passerby's concerned Rodney. Either six CIA agents escorting a small twelve year old boy was common around the compound, or they were under orders not to interact with him in any way. He didn't know which one he found more disturbing. There was a solemn tension in the air that increased as they went deeper into the complex.

The soldier continued to lead them into the heart of the building, taking so many twists and turns that Rodney was getting sea-sick. At last they neared a door that blended almost seamlessly with the walls around it. He glanced back at Hampton and Spade, taking one last look at the only familiarity left in this strange place, before bracing himself and walking past the soldier into the room.

Like everything else in the monotonous complex, all of the surfaces were the same blinding white. The only other items were a large built in mirror and a steel table that sat in the middle of the room and two identical metal chairs sitting around it. It didn't take a genius to recognize the iconic setting of an interrogation room. The soldier gestured for him to take a seat. Rodney cautiously stepped into the unadorned room and lowered himself into the cold chair facing the door. As the soldier shut it, the boy noticed that there was no handle on this side, meaning no way out.

The door shut with certain finality and the booming sound of a lock clicking into place echoed loudly in the vacant room. Rodney sat there as deafening silence fell over the space. He glanced nervously at the one-way window where he knew someone was watching him. The boy swallowed, vainly trying to force the rising emotions down. The overbearing emptiness and alien surroundings made him feel very small and vulnerable. For the first time since he was taken into custody by the CIA, he realized the implications of what that meant. And for the first time, he was afraid.

Rodney licked his lower lip and wished that his sister was here. She would know what to say to make him feel better, to cheer him up. And so he sat in the silence, waiting for whatever was going to happen.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Hampton watched as the marine closed the door, effectively sealing Rodney in IR-3, one of the interrogation rooms. In his peripheral vision, he saw Spade sigh in relief and pull out another cigarette. Did that woman ever stop smoking? The CIA agent gave a brief nod to the marine before gesturing to Spade. She followed in Hampton's wake as he strode down the halls heading to this installation's conference room.

The two government agents stepped into the large, oval shaped room where the mission commander and a couple of white coats sat around an ebony table. Spade and Hampton took two empty chairs and were each handed a file.

"Glad you could make it," stated the Agent-in-Charge of this investigation, Special Agent Brian Davis. His piercing gray eyes studied the two younger agents as they lowered themselves into the chairs.

Hampton cleared his throat as he began to leaf through the pages in the file, avoiding eye contact with Spade. He could picture the scowl on her face as she thought of their hellacious adventure with the boy genius and that was enough to make him grin from ear to ear. The scientists and the salt-and-pepper haired senior agent stared at the strange looks coming from the late arrivals. Davis cocked an eyebrow as Hampton suppressed a chuckle and Spade glared menacingly at him.

"We got here as fast as we could, sir, but we… ran into some complications," replied Spade. She gave her partner the evil eye, daring him to say something. Hampton simply smiled, a silent boast in his eyes.

"I see," Special Agent Davis succinctly stated. He couldn't wait to read _that_ report. The CIA agent turned to the two consulting civilian nuclear physicists. "What's your update on the formerly missing plan that was recently recovered?"

The scientists looked at each other before one of them, a woman with thick glasses, spoke up. "Our preliminary analysis found that it is indeed the missing diagram. It's thankfully intact except for the League's emblem now on its back." She spoke like someone with a stuffy nose, very muffled and high pitched. The woman pushed her glasses further up the bridge of her nose and continued. "The bomb is much more fascinating. I've heard theoretical designs like that, but I've never seen it ever implemented. The hardest part would be making it practical to use. Of course, it could be easier if you already had the proper mix of 235 and 238…"

"Dr. Ewell, please!" exclaimed Davis. She looked properly rebuked and apologized. "Does the bomb look liked it was built by the League?"

Dr. Ewell glanced at her fellow physicist for confirmation. He nodded. She turned to the CIA agent and responded. "It's impossible to tell from our end, but if I had to give an opinion… it was made by someone very skilled and who knows their way around nuclear energy. The guy who did this is very smart, and very good at it. It's certainly done by a pro."

She glanced at the government agents who were all exchanging an amused look. "Do you have a suspect? If so, I would really love to discuss the design with them in depth. We have a lot of questions and our study would go much faster if they were to help us."

Hampton's grin widened as he shared a knowing look with Spade. Ewell noticed and cocked an eyebrow. "Did I say something amusing?"

Hampton snorted. His partner glared at him. "Speaking of the suspect," said Spade. "What's going to happen to him now?"

"Matt's going to interrogate him. Depending on what he finds out… well, let's cross that bridge when we get there, eh?"

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Rodney really wished that he had a watch so he could know how much time had past. It felt like a lifetime since the soldier shut the door and left the boy alone. Though he'd never admit it, he wasn't just worried about himself. It had been around two hours since the CIA took him into custody by Rodney's calculations, and all that time, Jeanie had been alone.

Was she okay? Was she safe? Was she being interrogated like him? These questions began to gnaw away at his insides. It must have been that protective older brother feeling that was brought to the surface by recent events. Another problem was he was feeling light headed and faint, the early warning signs of an oncoming hypoglycemic reaction. The only thing he had eaten today was that power bar at the science fair, which was not even enough to sustain him for so long.

The silence was also disturbing Rodney. He hated quiet with a vengeance and now here he was, with no way to escape it. The boy figured he could think out loud, something he did often to fill the disconcerting stillness, but with the one-way window to his right, he chose not to. The last thing he wanted was for his interrogators to think that he was nuts. He tapped his foot lightly on the ground, taking comfort in the small reverberation that coursed through the room, but it was no where near enough to satisfy him.

He decided that he couldn't stand the silence and the hunger any longer. He got up and banged on the door. "Hey! Hey! Did anybody read my file or whatever the heck you have on me?! I am on the verge of a hypoglycemic reaction, and if you want to interrogate me, you're gonna have to get something to eat before I _die_! In case you didn't know, coma patients don't answer questions very well!"

Rodney continued to pound on the metal door for a while longer to no avail. No one responded to his cries. He slowly lowered his hands and silence fell over the room once more. The boy could feel the weight of the unbroken stillness like a physical presence. He swallowed anxiously, taking one quick glance at himself in the mirror.

His reflection looked pale and frightened, very much the way he felt. He was strangely disturbed by the image of the weak, frail boy and looked away. The genius sighed and sat back down in the uncomfortable metal chair that he knew couldn't be good for his back. He sighed again and looked longingly at the door, willing it to open, not really caring what came through.

At least then he wouldn't be alone.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

From behind the 'mirror', a figure with eyes as black as space, watched the boy sit uncomfortably in the silence. It was a tactic in interrogation to make the suspect sit and wait. A lack of action when they expect a flurry of questions puts them on edge and loosens their tongues. You can't think before you speak when you're stressed and lying is harder when you can't think clearly.

It was also a good way to get into the mind of the subject; how a person reacts under pressure told a lot about them. Usually, the interrogator would have made his subject wait longer before sending anyone in, but the boy had a point. He'd have to make an exception in this case. Perhaps studying how the boy interacted with others would be just as beneficial.

He turned to his left, where his assistant stood by his side. "Get Stuart," he commanded. The brunette nodded meekly and left through the door. The CIA interrogator returned to the one-way window and watched the boy twitch and glance at the door and 'mirror' occasionally.

Before long, he heard someone clear their throat from the door, a habit he detested. The interrogator continued to stare at the window, waiting for the offender to announce their presence in a more civilized manner.

In the way of human predictability, the offender could stand the quiet for no more than a few moments. "Excuse me, Agent Maxwell, you wanted me?"

Matthew Maxwell turned to Dr. Stuart Manley. The doctor was a very shy and cowardly sort of person who tended to become very nervous when in the presence of superiors. His lack of social skills made him very good at his type of medicine; the kind where patients did not talk back. Even though he excelled in his chosen field, pathology, he tended to screw up even the simplest matters. He had a very poor memory and forgot the most minor of facts. Stuart was also perfectly suited for the job Maxwell had in mind.

"Did you read the medical file on the boy?" inquired Maxwell. His voice was deep and booming, giving off an aura of authority that made with a lack of a backbone cringe.

"Um, I just glanced through it a while ago, but I think I got the gist of it," Stuart replied to the strange question.

Maxwell nodded, his face expressionless as always. "Go grab a sandwich and soda from the mess. Then give them to the boy."

The pathologist raised his eye brows in question at the strange order, but he made no comment about it. The sooner he got out of Maxwell's presence, the better. "Yes sir," he said before leaving for the cafeteria.

The CIA agent watched the man go, and turned once more to the small figure through the window, still debating an answer to the burning question that he, the US and Canadian governments wanted to know: was this small boy in front of him a member of the covert terrorist group?

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Rodney had settled into an introspective stupor, thinking about his situation when he heard the lock click. He jerked up in surprise, wondering who was about to break his isolation. The door swung open and a pale face and white lab coat of some sort of scientist stepped through. He was carrying a tray of food that Rodney knew was surely for him.

"Well it's about time!" the genius exclaimed.

The scientist walked nervously into the room, glancing quickly at the 'mirror' and set the tray in front of the boy. Rodney picked up the sandwich brimming with condiments and meat, just the way he liked it. He began to chew enthusiastically, humming in pleasure. Stuart watched the ravenous boy devour the sandwich for a moment, before he decided that his mission was accomplished and began to walk towards the door.

Rodney was as happy as a clam until he reached for the soda. His glee instantly fell and he set the sandwich down, a frown creasing his face. "What the heck is this?" he demanded.

Stuart turned around sharply at the harsh tone. The boy was holding up the can of soda the pathologist thought he would like; it was his favorite, anyway. "It's a can of Sprite," he replied, wondering where this was going.

The genius sighed and rubbed a hand over his face and looked skyward for deliverance. This proved it, he really _was_ surrounded by imbeciles. "Did you even read my file or whatever?" he asked the cowering scientist. The pathologist nodded. Rodney took a deep breath to quell his rising anger, but it wasn't working very well. "Did it say what I'm _deathly_ allergic to?" For a twelve year old who was not at all athletic, he had being menacing down to an art.

Though Rodney was still sitting down, Stuart felt like the boy was towering over him. He tried to wrack his brain for the answer. "Um, yeah, I think so," he said, thinking. "Uh, you're allergic to citrus, right?"

Rodney sent him condescending smile filled with so much contempt Stuart resisted the urge to make the sign of the cross. "Wow, you can read, I'm impressed. That's a rare thing for people of your intellect. Now, why don't you use this remarkable ability and tell me what this says?"

The scientist cautiously walked over to Rodney who pointed to a specific line of text. The taller man bent down and read what was on the can of soda. "'Contains natural and artificial lemon and lime flavors'." Stuart was confused as to what that had to do with anything, when it suddenly clicked. He felt his stomach drop as he realized his potentially fatal mistake.

Rodney's twisted grin grew. "And tell me, O Enlightened One, what types of fruit are lemons and limes? Or have you not gotten to that in preschool?" Stuart was still too stunned at the fierce look on the boy's face to say anything.

The genius felt his patience snap at the lack of response. All of his anxiety that had been brewing for the past two plus hours exploded at this man's stupid mistake. He stood up and shoved the can in the man's face. "Citrus! My God, didn't you even read the label?! Did you even consider the fact that if I wasn't so brilliantly observant, I would have died?! Have you ever seen someone go into anaphylactic shock?! God, you should have given me a can of cyanide!! At least then my death would have been less painful, you bone-headed moron!! What kind of doctor are you?! How did you become a doctor anyway?! Didn't you flunk out of med school?! Or have none of your patients had a chance to testify about your incompetence as they've all _died_?!?"

Stuart flinched away from the boy's furious tirade, but raised a tentative finger, feeling a need to correct him. "Um, actually, all my 'patients' are dead anyway, so there's know way for me to kill them. I'm a pathologist," he said quietly.

For a moment, Rodney was stunned into a daze. Then, his face began to turn a shade of red so deep it was nearly purple. He was shaking with unbridled fury. Stuart took a step back from the enraged boy. The pathologist could feel the heat radiating from Rodney like a furnace. That was not a good sign.

"They sent a _pathologist _to give me my food?!? How fitting then because you almost KILLED me!!!! Get out my sight you pathetic excuse for an intelligent life form!!!! And get me something to drink that _won't _kill me!!! I know that's obviously a new concept for you, but perhaps you could get someone of greater intelligence to direct you away from the poisons to something more edible!!!" Stuart stood there, too shocked to move. "Well, why are you just standing there?! GO!!" barked Rodney.

In an instant, the pathologist turned and fled from boy's presence, not slowing down until he reached the mess. He looked through the drinks, trying to find something that the boy would find acceptable. As Stuart went through the check out line, he recalled the fact that he had never seen someone so angry, especially a boy not even in his teens.

He stopped in front of the door to interrogation room where the little demon waited. Stuart took a deep breath and braced himself before entering. Rodney was sitting there, calmly eating his sandwich. He looked up at Stuart, his eyes coming to rest on the cup the pathologist held in his hand.

Rodney swallowed and forced out a humorless laugh. "Let me guess… is it orange juice? Or is it your special home-made foxglove concoction? Perhaps you chose something a little safer like Atropine?" mocked Rodney.

Stuart felt his face flush. "No, no, it's just coffee," he stated.

The genius cocked an eyebrow. "Black?" he asked. Stuart nodded. "Caffeinated?" the boy tried.

The pathologist nodded again. "Yeah," he said brightly. Maybe this wouldn't be a complete catastrophe after all.

Rodney lifted a hand and snapped his rapidly. "Bring it here."

Stuart walked over obediently and handed him the cup. Rodney took a tentative sip. "Not bad," he remarked. The pathologist felt strangely pleased that he managed to get something satisfactory for the little monster. Rodney looked up and saw the pale pathologist was smiling at him. The boy got uncomfortable under the unblinking gaze. "Uh… you can leave now."

The doctor snapped out of his reverie. "Oh, right," he responded. After one last awkward moment, Stuart turned on his heel and walked out the door, heading back to his laboratory. As he sat back down in his chair, he sighed and remarked to the heavens, "That is the reason I avoid social situations. And children. Mostly why I avoid children."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Maxwell smiled and chuckled as he watched the boy, Meredith R. McKay, berate the cowering scientist and send him scurrying away with his proverbial tail between his legs. That was something Matt had wanted to do for a long time, but never did as it went against common courtesy and social etiquette. The boy obviously had no such inhibitions. He observed the boy gather himself and sit back down, forgetting momentarily about the one-way window and who brought him here.

When Stuart got back, Matt listened to the boy's sarcastic comments delivered in a disturbingly calm way, the complete opposite of his actions a moment ago, but had the same effects. The CIA agent laughed again as the pathologist rushed away. He decided that he liked this kid; he was unpredictable, and fit none of the usual categories that Matt put people in. He was a rogue, and a puzzle that he couldn't wait to unravel.

But was he a member of the League? Right now, Matt didn't think so. They preferred people with the three c's: cold, calm and collected. McKay was none of the above. However, intelligence can make people turn a blind eye to personality quirks.

Matt grabbed the thick file on anything and everything to do with the Crimson League and the A-bomb this boy had built. He walked out the door and headed for IR-3. His gut told him that this boy was connected to, but not part of the terrorist group. How much or little, he didn't know, but he was going to find out. Maxwell walked over to the marine, who nodded and opened the door. The boy genius looked up as the CIA agent entered the room and the door shut behind him.

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**TBC**

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_A/N There it is! I should have the next chapter next weekend so stay tuned! In the mean time, why don't you take a moment to review? I'd really, really appreciate it!_


	7. Interrogation Part Two

_A/N Hey there everybody! I'm really, really sorry that this took so long. Life, friends, homework, and a cold so severe it made others describe me as deathly, tried to get in the way of me writing. But I managed scratch out another chapter! _

_PS As a disclaimer, I am taking artistic liberty with some real terrorist organizations and playing with the facts just enough to suit my own needs. Nothing to big, but still, I felt that a disclaimer was necessary. Oh, and thanks to some _wonderful_ advice from Texas Mom, I changed the 'Crimson League' to LYNA. You'll find out more about it below. Gratitude to my two superb betas: Texas Mom the Namer and Gremblin the Mighty Comma Slayer! So, please R&R and I hope you enjoy!_

**Chapter Seven: Interrogation Part Two**

An imposing figure of a man well over six feet clad in a black suit stood in the doorway, his bulk blocking the view beyond him. The figure had skin like ebony and irises so black the pupils were nearly indistinguishable. A badge clipped to the suit identified him as yet another American CIA agent. Rodney wondered why there were so many American agents around here, considering that he was a Canadian citizen. But then again, Rodney didn't know what was going on anymore.

The behemoth continued to watch the small boy, dark eyes gazing unwaveringly into blue. Rodney had trouble discerning whether or not the man was breathing. At last the CIA agent strode toward the table and sat down. Even sitting the giant towered over him. The man took out a large bundle of files and set them down with a loud slam. The boy jumped and stared into the eyes of the agent, who returned the gaze and opened the file simultaneously. Rodney gulped. This guy meant business.

"I will ask you some questions. You will answer them honestly and to the best of your ability. Do you understand?" The agent's tenor voice completed the intimidating picture.

Rodney swallowed deeply and nodded. This guy was really 'don't wanna meet him in a dark alley' creepy. He fleetingly glanced at his ID badge for the man's name: Agent Maxwell.

"Good." stated Maxwell. The agent glanced down at his folder and pulled out a sheet of paper. He turned it around, setting it on the table for the boy to see. Rodney leaned forward to get a closer look.

It was a photograph of a man with a broad nose, thin lips, and a head of thinning salt-and-pepper hair. The harsh, deep wrinkles on his face made him appear very old, his pale gray eyes had a trace of stone in them, the kind that is born from hard physical labor and the inbred need to survive and live another day. They say that a picture was worth a thousand words and Rodney was sure that there was a grand story behind that face.

Rodney looked up from the photograph to the interrogator in front of him. The agent was studying him closely, searching his face for any reaction.

"Do you recognize him?" asked Agent Maxwell. The boy shook his head without hesitating. Maxwell narrowed his eyes and held his gaze for a moment. He glanced down at the photo and the boy did the same. "His name is Robert Franks, the leader of a group known as the Liberated Youth of North America, the United Teens Association, among other names."

The air in the room was starting to fill with tension and Rodney grew increasingly uncomfortable under the man's piercing observation. Absorbing the information, he snorted.

"The Liberated Youth of North America? That's the cheesiest name I've ever heard, and that's saying a lot. Liberated from what exactly? Intelligence? Creativity?" Though he attempted to sound nonchalant Rodney's interest was piqued. The genius had a feeling that he'd be getting answers at last.

The corners of Matt's lips curled slightly upward. "I suppose it is corny. Do you know who they are?" Again, the boy shook his head. The CIA agent tried to uncover a hint of untruth in Meredith's actions, but found none. Could he truly be naïve?

"The LYNA pretends to be an after-school program targeting disgruntled and abandoned teens as members. From the outside it acts like any other program, but when the teens become full members that they reveal their true purpose. The LYNA ask their members to do certain 'favors' for them, such as raising money and hiding illicit materials."

"There are many types of illicit materials. What are you referring to?" asked Rodney.

The agent licked his lower lip in thought before responding. "The LYNA is an anti-US Marxist cult that supports, and gets support from, various terrorist groups, the largest ones being the Mujahedin-e Khalq Organization and the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam. They raise money for their own purposes as well as those of their benefactors and keep a cache of illegal automatic guns among other things."

As a Canadian Rodney was somewhat familiar with the LTTE and knew that it was against the law to give them any money. "Aren't those both very military-focused terrorist groups? Why would they want anything to do with some teen cult?"

"Usually, they wouldn't. But Liberated Youth has a considerable amount of money in their hands, members who are willing to die before they surrender anything they are given to protect, and a large network of infiltrators in the CIA and the CSIS. The Tigers and the MKO steal and ask for information which the LYNA gladly supplies."

Maxwell paused for a long moment, studying the boy as he thought. "Despite the very interesting current events lesson, what does all of this have to do with me?" Rodney inquired.

The question seemed to be an honest one to Matt. Meredith looked up the agent, waiting for an answer. There wasn't any hint that he already knew the reason or that he was anxious save for a little jitters that Matt could chalk up to nerves. Being practically abducted by a foreign government agency could put you on edge, especially if you were guilty of something like this twelve year old might be. But if he wasn't…

The CIA agent shifted in his chair, trying to find a comfortable position on the stiff metal. He flipped through his file casually, still not responding. Matt could feel the boy's impatience from here. Resisting a smile, he took out a few more photos and laid them on the table. "These are pictures of Sri Lankan men belonging to the Tamil Tigers, who are recently credited with stealing an illustration of the inner workings of the original atomic bomb created in 1939. This one," Maxwell pointed to a photograph, "was apprehended but like all well-trained terrorists he refused to give any information on the plans whereabouts.

"We followed lead after fruitless lead for weeks until one of our sources tipped us off that the Liberated Youth was involved. With the LYNA it is extremely difficult to pinpoint a definite member with information we need. However, we managed to find out that the diagram had been taken north from the US into Canada, where an LTTE agent would pick it up. A Liberated Youth was to hide it in a remote location for them to collect it. After it was transferred to a safer location both the Tigers and the MKO would use the plan to build their own A-bomb." Matt wove his fingers together and set his hands on the tabletop, gazing at the boy intently.

"We expected the coming threats any day, but nothing surfaced. Not a whisper of anything. Thanks to some resourceful agents we narrowed it down to a small Canadian town as the last known location of the plans." Rodney swallowed with a dry mouth; it was obvious where this was going. "The Canadian government let us attempt to track down our property and gave us as much aid as they could. They agreed that if a Canadian citizen was found with the plans we could interrogate him, but we had to allow the Canadian courts to bring them to justice."

Maxwell paused, letting the information sink in. Rodney's questions about why the US government practically kidnapped him faded away and were replaced with a mounting dread.

The CIA agent watched the boy become increasingly tense and scared, but was it because of guilt and fear of punishment, or something else? "And so we waited for any one of the terrorist groups to make a move." Stillness fell over the small room for a moment, broken only by the drumming of Rodney's pounding heart. He didn't like where this was leading. _Oh this is so not good. _

"Then we heard of a call to the local police, reporting that an A-bomb was in the school gym, in the same town we were watching. We sent in agents to capture the bomb's creator and found you. While you were just getting into that van, agents were simultaneously searching your house. We found the plan right on your desk in plain sight."

Again silence fell over the interrogation room. The weight of the mountain of evidence against him pressed against Rodney like a physical presence. _I'm a dead man. A dead, soon to be incarcerated man. Can you get the death sentence for being an accused terrorist? What a decision to make, lethal injection or electric chair._ Matt continued to use his black eyes to bore into Rodney's blue.

"How do you explain that?" questioned Agent Maxwell.

The question hung in the air, impossible to ignore. Beads of sweat formed on the boy's forehead and trickled down his face. Rodney was terrified; absolutely, positively 'oh my God I am so screwed' terrified. Even the fear he felt when he was alone didn't match this. He was totally dead. Would they believe that this was just a horrible coincidence? What if they didn't?

Matt stood up halfway and moved closer to the boy. The giant's face was only inches away from Rodney's, very much imposing on his personal space. He felt very small and vulnerable and the sensation was growing.

For the first time, he wished that his parents were here. They'd know what to do. They'd get him out of this mess.

Rodney pointed his eyes at the ceiling willing his parents, Jeanie, or the Hand of God to descend and pluck him from this horrible situation and take him home. Several quick heartbeats passed and no aid came. He was terribly, utterly alone. The McKay who always had a witty comment, a stabbing remark to say in any situation had deserted him when the fear arrived and declared his heart home. Rodney could feel its icy tendrils spreading through him, leaving his limbs trembling.

With sarcasm taken from him, there was only one thing McKay could do.

Ramble.

"What! You, you think I'm a _terrorist_?! That…why…I'm _twelve _for Christ's sake! I've never even given tithe at church let alone fund a terrorist group! And I can't even lie that well! Ask my sister, she'll tell you about this one time that I got in sooo much trouble when…" Maxwell relaxed and settled once more into his seat to wait for the boy to compose himself. Rodney swallowed to keep from sighing in relief and stopped his logorrhea. "I-I got that diagram at the library," he declared.

Maxwell crossed his arms and cocked an eyebrow. "Can anyone collaborate your story?"

Rodney tried to calm down long enough to reply with a succinct answer. It didn't work. "Yeah, the librarian, um, what's his name? He was just there for the day, must have been pushing one hundred… well, he was really old anyway. His glasses were so thick I'm surprised that he didn't fall over from the weight. But what was his name? Mr. M-something. It started with an 'M', I know that. I'm horrible with names…"

As the boy continued to babble on, Matt slowly opened up the file and shuffled through the papers. "Mr. Meyers?"

The boy nodded. "Yeah, that's it. He saw me go into the library and check out the plan with my other books." _Yes! A ray of hope! I just might get out of this alive!_

The agent raised an eyebrow. "That could have been part of a set-up to avoid suspicion." Maxwell stated calmly.

_Nope, no hope. I am SO gonna die. Dead man talkin' here. _"I know what this looks like but you guys are wrong! Look, I don't even go out of my house except school and the library. And maybe to pick up a decent cup of coffee, but that's it! Pathetic I know, but it's the truth!"

Maxwell glanced down at the file once more. "It says here that one month ago, around the same time the theft was reported, you left school at recess and never came back." The CIA agent looked up at the boy. "Do you have an explanation for that?"

Rodney's stomach tightened into knots. He felt nauseated and light-headed. "I-I was at the library! Mr. Meyers can vouch for me, and my sister, Jeanie, she'll tell you that I was at home when school was over, working on building the model atomic bomb." His fists were clenched so tight his fingernails were digging into the clammy skin of his palm. "Besides, if I really was working for the LYNA why would I keep it all this time? Wouldn't their benefactors be eager to start using it themselves?"

The CIA narrowed his eyes in thought. The boy had a point… "I'll have to verify that." McKay nodded in response. "I'll be back shortly," stated Maxwell as he collected the photos and the file before getting up and tapping on the door a few times. It opened immediately and the agent stepped out, leaving Rodney alone once more.

The booming lock clicked into place and the room lapsed into silence. But this time Rodney was thankful for the peace and quiet because that's what it truly was: peaceful. The boy rested his quivering elbows on his knees and placed his sweaty forehead in them. How had this happened? When did Murphy's Law suddenly apply to him? Hopefully it wouldn't plague him in the future but right now it might be his undoing. Rodney's adrenaline fueled mind knew that if the CIA didn't believe his witnesses there was a strong possibility that he wouldn't be rescued from this mess.

_I've said it once and I'll say it till the day I die: I'm a dead man. _

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

**TBC**

_A/N Well there you have it. I hope that this chapter managed to answer some of those pesky questions I get in reviews. If it didn't… I'll either respond to reviews hint hint or answer them in the next chapter. Coming up next, what Jeannie has been doing all this time and the answer to a pressing question… how will Rodney get out of this mess? In the meantime, why don't you write a review? I could be just a word or two, but it really makes me very, very happy! And a happy writer is a fast typer ;)_


	8. Meanwhile

_A/N I bet you thought you'd never see another chapter. For shame! Then again, with all of the recent crap RL has thrown at me, _I_ wasn't even sure if this fic would ever see the light of day again. But now summer has arrived and another chapter has been written! I'm going to attempt a new chap about every week or so, so please bear with me and REVIEW! _

_Thanks once more to my two lovely betas TexasMom and Gremblin, as well as my 'police consultant' who really just watches too much crime shows. This fic wouldn't be the same without you!_

_I guess there's not much else to say except…enjoy!_

**Chapter Eight: Meanwhile…**

_Several hours earlier… _

Jeannie stood outside the gymnasium, still trying to wrap her mind around what just occurred. Outside was just as chaotic as it had been inside. Frightened people were shuffling around the lawn searching for loved ones, calling out various names as they hurried along. Strange men in suits were milling through the multitude, interviewing frantic people still looking for answers. Local policemen were attempting to calm the crowd while several police cars blocked traffic from coming near, their red and blue lights flashing a warning to stay away.

The small girl was rooted to the ground not nine meters from the school, still watching the now thinning line of people coming through the doors. Another person brushed past her shouting "Elaine!" into the mass, not even sparing a passing glance at Jeannie. Soon after, yet another person ran by her heading deeper into the horde.

It was then that she realized that Mere hadn't made it out.

"Mere!" Jeannie called. "Mere! Where are you?" She surveyed the large grassy expanse, biting her lower lip. There was still no sign of him. "Mere?" said Jeannie quietly. She noticed that everyone was starting to head toward the main driveway into the school. Not knowing what else to do, Jeannie quickly jogged there as well. She hoped the Mere was doing the same, wherever he was.

Two black trucks and a white van were parked askew on the edge of the street. The swarms of reporters were hurling questions at the line of policemen keeping the mob back. Their loud and hurried questions mingled together until they were a symphony of meaningless sounds. The double-doors that had become the center of attention opened up to reveal—

Meredith, surrounded by men in black body armor. A man and woman stood on either side of him like guards. They wore bulletproof vests with "CIA" printed on them.

"Mere!" Jeannie cried out as the group walked past her. She shouted his name again but the call never reached his ears; it was drowned out by the cacophony of other voices.

She rushed forward, pressing against the throng of onlookers, still crying her brother's name desperately. "Meredith!" Jeannie was stopped by the solid wall of policemen. She waved a hand and shouted again, trying to draw attention to herself, but she was invisible behind the adults. One of the nearby policemen noticed the lone eight year old and recognized the name she called.

Mere was still being led to the pale van.

"Merediiith!!!!" his little sister screamed.

At the threshold of the van, Mere turned around. His eyes scanned the crowd. Jeannie shouted his name once more, but she remained undetectable. The woman gently pushed Mere into the van following close behind. Soon the door was shut and Jeannie could no longer see him.

"Meredith! Don't leave me here alone!"

The white van drove away, the trucks following in its wake. All the while the reporters shouted their indecipherable inquires and the blank, dark eyes of the cameras recorded it all. The policeman spoke quickly to his fellow men in uniform next to him. He broke free from the human wall and the others quickly filled the gap. The man walked over to Jeannie.

"Hey." The policeman said to the frightened girl. "Do you know that boy?"

She nodded. "He's my brother! What's happening? Why did they take him?"

The policeman seemed slightly disturbed by that. He took out a large handheld radio and placed it in front of his mouth. "Officer Folk, I located the perp's sister. How should I proceed, over."

"_Standby,_" a rough male voice from the radio responded. Jeannie stood near the police officer, unsure of what to do. "_Officer Bayouk, return to command. It looks like the Americans—are you on open carrier?_"

"10-4 to both. Be by the cars in a few."

"_10-4_."

Officer Maynard turned to Jeannie. "Have you ever ridden in a police car?" The small girl shook her head. "Would you like to?" Considering her brother's kidnapping she wasn't too excited about the prospect. She nodded anyways because she knew it was what he wanted to see. Sure enough he smiled in approval. "Well, now you've got your chance. Stick close to me, alright?"

The officer led her through the mass, many people still being interviewed by reporters or the men and women in suits. As they made their way to the police cars, Jeannie saw that Mere's homeroom teacher, Ms. Tamble, was being interviewed by a local newswoman.

As Bayouk opened up the backseat door for her Jeannie overheard the woman say "…always knew that boy was trouble. He was always talking back and making rude comments. Didn't have any friends either, but I figure that was because no one could relate to him. He was so strange…and quiet. I tell you, it's always the quiet ones…" The door shut and cut off the rest of Ms. Tamble's ramblings. Jeannie was glad about that; one more word and she would have had to correct the witch. Mere had told her about the things Tamble said to and about him in class. He definitely wasn't the only one asking for trouble at that school.

The thought of Mere made Jeannie's stomach drop. Where was he? Was he safe? She really hoped that he was. As the car's engine revved and they headed down the street presumably to the police station, Jeannie prayed that Mere was okay.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Once they arrived at the Station, Bayouk escorted her to a room in the back. When the door was opened, Jeannie instantly recognized the classic interrogation room setting: a table and two wooden chairs in the center and a large one-way mirror built into one of the walls. This particular room had the added bonus of a window, so it didn't feel too prison-like.

Bayouk told her to sit down and that someone would come to see her soon in that all-too-familiar way that adults spoke to young children. The man even had the nerve to ask if she wanted something to eat or a _coloring book_! What was she, four? She responded with a snappy "No, I want to know what happened to my brother!" The policeman said that was for someone else to answer and he left.

Jeannie examined the sickly green walls and shag carpet with distaste. She glanced quickly at her reflection in the mirror. It was so unnerving to know that behind it, someone was watching her. She bit her lip anxiously and thought of nothing to do but take a seat. The girl dropped into the rough wooden chair and kicked her legs in a nervous habit.

She wished Mere was here.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Behind the glass, three agents from two governments observed the girl and listened to the latest news.

"How are the background checks on the parents coming along?" a gray haired CSIS agent asked the American CIA agent in possession of the radio.

"They came up fairly clean. A couple parking tickets, not much else. If the boy's involved with the LYNA, I don't think the parents are," he replied.

"Like I always say Garcia, you never know about a person until you search their house. Speaking of which how's that going? Anybody get a lock on the parents location?" asked Garcia's partner, Kristen Douglas.

"Let me ask," Garcia said. He held up the radio and clicked the talk button. "Moore, what's your status, over?"

"_We've 10-48. No signs of anyone being home, but we're gonna check. 10-6, over._" There was a brief pause. "_Confirmed, house is empty. You want us to begin searching the place, over?_"

"10-4, over," Garcia confirmed.

"_10-4. I'll report back if we find anything. Over and out."_

Garcia turned to Douglas. "Why don't you go speak to the girl now? We don't want to scare her, but we need some information like where her parents are, if she can contact them, and anything about her brother would be great."

"I understand Garcia," said Douglas. "I was briefed in the same room as you. I know what to do."

The CIA agent grinned. "Well, you know me. I have a tendency to restate things." Douglas smiled in reply and was about to leave when the radio crackled to life.

"_Garcia, we've got the package, over."_

The three agents glanced at one another. "Repeat that last transmission, over." Garcia ordered.

"_We've found the plans in the perp's bedroom, lying right there on the desk. We're still searching for any other incriminating evidence. Is the perp in custody, over?_"

The agent licked his lips in thought. "10-4. He should be on his way to the headquarters of this investigation right now. Is there any sign the whole family was involved, over?"

"_It's too early to tell, but I wouldn't think so. But that's not LYNA's MO, over?"_

"No it's not, but better safe than sorry. Just keep looking, over."

"_10-4. Over and out._"

Garcia looked pointedly at Douglas. She nodded and briskly strode from the room. If this boy really was a member of the LYNA… a lot was going to happen, very quickly. All he could do was relate the information to headquarters and hope that this was resolved quickly.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Thick silence had fallen over the room for what seemed like an excruciatingly long time. Jeannie shifted in her chair and wondered for the hundredth time what has going on. A loud click reverberated around the small space and caused the small girl to jump. The thick door opened to let in a kind looking woman with brown hair and chocolate colored eyes. She wore a crisp navy-blue business suit and carried a tray loaded with, ugh, cookies and two glasses of milk. All that kept Jeannie from rolling her eyes was the fact that this woman might hold some answers to her burning questions.

The woman sat down in the chair directly across from the girl and introduced herself as "Special Agent Kristen Douglas, CIA."

"CIA?" repeated Jeannie uncertainly.

"It's an American government agency, like your CSIS." Douglas succinctly answered. The CIA agent gestured at the cookies. "So, would you like a little something to eat?"

Jeannie wanted to refuse and launch into a tirade, demanding information, but those were _freshly baked chocolate chip cookies_. Who could say no to that sweet aroma? She quickly grabbed one and began to gleefully munch away. As soon as she took a bite, she released a moan of pleasure. _Oh my God, these are sooo goooood. Mmmmm…_

Douglas smiled at Jeannie's reaction and took one for herself. "Heavenly, aren't they? A wife of one of the officers apparently bakes pastries for the department. I managed to snag a few for us." The agent fell mute for a few moments, letting the child eat her treat happily. "Jeannie, could you do me a favor?"

The girl looked at Douglas with seriousness beyond her years. "It depends on what the favor is and what I get for doing it," Jeannie tersely replied.

She received a laugh in response. "A very wise answer." Douglas sobered up a bit. "We need a little bit of the information we think you might have. Just some simple things, nothing more."

Jeannie felt her resolve soften. "And then can I see my brother?"

The lines around Douglas's mouth deepened despite her best efforts to keep her expression neutral. "In time, yes." She took the resulting stillness as affirmation and dove right into her questions. "We've tried to find your parents, but they weren't home. Do you know where they are?"

"They're at a car show in Toronto. They said they wouldn't be back until six or seven," answered Jeannie.

Douglas absorbed the new Intel quickly. This could definitely complicate things a bit. "Do you have a way to contact them?"

Jeannie shrugged. "They've got a car phone that you could try."

The agent briefly glanced at her watch and calculated the probability of the McKays being in their car. She deemed it good enough to try. "Can you give me their number?" The girl nodded and dictated it to Douglas. "You've been a great help," thanked Douglas. Jeannie shrugged uncertainly.

The agent saw from the look on her face that she was frightening the girl with her questions. No problem. They had found a way to contact the parents and inform them of the situation. Now Douglas had to concentrate on earning Jeannie's trust and learning a bit more about her brother.

"Well, I think that's enough for now, what do you think?"

Jeannie sucked on her lower lip. "When will someone tell me what's going on? Where Mere is?"

Her voice was so pitiful and sad, Douglas was caught off guard. "Don't worry; I'll explain the situation when your parents arrive." The agent took out her notebook and pen. "In the mean time, why don't we play a game? How about Tic-Tac-Toe?"

Jeannie mulled over the proposal in her head. It was in her best interests to play along and so she did. "Too boring. What about Hangman?"

Douglas smiled. "Hangman it is. I'll start if that's okay with you." Jeannie nodded and the agent searched her mind for an appropriate word.

While she waited, Jeannie glanced out the window. The glass was high up the wall, nearly meeting the ceiling, and allowing her only a glimpse of the cloud filled sky. A small plane suddenly burst through the billows, leaving a white trail of smoke in its wake as it climbed steadily upward.

For a moment, Jeannie stared at it with a mix of child-like awe and wonder. In that same instant, she wondered if Mere could see it from wherever he was. The thought eased a bit of the knot of tension that had been growing in her belly. The sound of her name brought her head out of the clouds and back down to earth.

She had a puzzle to solve.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

**TBC**

_A/N2 Well, there you have it. What will happen to Jeannie? Can she prove her brother's innocence? Tune in next week to find out! Now, to pass the time…why don't you review? Reviews make writers type faster ;)_


	9. Deus Ex Machina

**A/N** Ha! I did it! After much work, head banging, and hours of typing it's finally finished! To those of you cough Haliyah cough that said that the last chapter was too short, well what do you think of _thirteen freakin' pages_? Huh?

Sorry for the long delay, but this took FOREVER to type. It still took me a week to finish even though I spent ten hours a day doing almost nothing but writing this fic.

God I need a nap. And some coffee.

Thanks to my betas and my 'police consultants' who are always a great help for all those pesky plot problems!

Anywho, enjoy! There are surprises galore. evil crackle

* * *

**Chapter Nine: Deus Ex Machina **

Jeannie took a deep, calming breath and guessed another letter. She was sick of this moronic game and the not-so-masked questions about her brother. She almost wished that Douglas would just come out and _say_ what she wanted to know about Mere instead of dancing around the issue.

Douglas kept asking things like, "So what are Mere's friends like?" "How's school?" "Does he come home late a lot?"

Did they think he was some kind of psychopath or something? It must have something to do with Mere's "working model" but she couldn't even be sure of that. Douglas refused to give all but the vaguest of answers.

It was getting exceedingly frustrating.

How long had they been at this? An hour? More? Jeannie couldn't be sure. The cloak and dagger relationship with her "interrogator" was wearing away at Jeannie's already thin nerves. She still didn't know what happened to Mere.

Agent Douglas had launched into another story about her and her older brother (which Jeannie doubted even existed) and ended with another question about her and Mere.

It was the last straw.

Jeannie stood up and violently slammed her small hands on the table. "That's it! I'm tired of your idiotic stories, this childish game, and your insinuations! Just ask your stupid questions so I find out what the heck is going on!"

Douglas was visibly startled but recovered quickly. Her expression hardened. With stern face Douglas replied, "Fine." She got up and moved towards a phone built into the wall. After making a quick call, the door opened and a police officer handed Douglas a file. The agent sat down and opened it. Jeannie could sense the seriousness emanating from her. She also sat down and wondered if her eruption had been the right thing to do.

The CIA agent glanced up from the file to Jeannie, her firm brown eyes meeting intelligent blue ones. "Meredith's teachers all agree that he did extremely well academically and were considering putting him in an accelerated learning program. Is that correct?"

Jeannie barely had time to nod before Douglas plowed through to another question. "They also said that he was ostracized by his peers and was frequently absent from social events. Is that true?"

"Yeah, but what's that got to do with"—

"Several of his teachers also mention that he was very caustic and aggressive. According to Ms. Tamble, Meredith is, 'extremely violent and abrasive, lashing out at anyone who disagrees with him or for no reason at all'."

Jeannie felt her face flush with rage. "That's not true! Mere can be impolite sometimes but he's not violent!"

Douglas narrowed her eyes. "Then why did he bring a nuclear bomb to the science fair?"

The youngest McKay was at a dilemma. Should she tell the agent the real reason Mere built that bomb? Jeannie settled for a half-truth. "Mere was always being put down and teased. He just wanted to impress everyone. He'd never hurt anybody."

She waited on baited breath while Douglas processed the information. She looked into Jeannie's eyes, searching for any sign of uncertianty. The agent couldn't find one. "Where did he get it?"

Jeannie was caught off guard. They didn't know? "He built it using the plans he got from the library."

It was Douglas's turn to be shocked. "_He_ built it? Are you saying your twelve year old brother built an advanced atomic weapon by himself?"

She shook her head. "I helped." Jeannie shrugged modestly. "Besides, it wasn't a real bomb, just a model." She began to explain what the siblings did as the agent massaged her head. As Douglas backtracked through what the sister had said, she realized that she overlooked something.

Douglas raised a hand to stop Jeannie's techno-babble. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Did you say that your brother found the plans at the library?" The small girl nodded. "You're absolutely sure of that? He didn't get it from a 'friend' or anything?"

Jeannie nodded. "The librarian recognized him when we went back there to return some books. Why?"

The agent looked at the mirror, knowing that somewhere behind it Garcia was reporting back to HQ. They had finally gotten the information they were looking for.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Maxwell listened to the new information Agents Garcia and Douglas had gathered from Rodney's sister. So far the boy's story checked out. The agent could hear the slight disbelief in Garcia's voice as he relayed what the sister said about the bomb. Heck, Maxwell had a hard time believing Rodney capable of building something so sophisticated…until he sat down and talked with him.

Even so, gut feelings didn't mean much; he needed proof. They needed someone to test Rodney on nuclear physics to see if he really was capable of making that nuke. Maxwell knew that he definitely wasn't going to be that person. That sort of thing was beyond him. No, he'd have to get a respected scientist to do it…but who?

The radio buzzed once more. "_Maxwell this is Nason, over._"

"What's your situation, over."

"_I've just finished interrogating Suvik Jayasakara, a member of the Tamil Tigers, who was found near the perp's location, over._"

"Now that's interesting," commented Maxwell. "Precise location, over."

"_A hospital twenty miles outside the perp's hometown. He's been treated there for a few weeks. Suvik arrived there with deep lacerations and massive blood loss. He also suffered bruising all over his body, several broken bones, and severe head trauma. He just came out a coma a few days ago._"

"I don't need a full medical report, Nason. Has he said anything about the perp, over."

"_He's said a lot, sir. Frankly Jayasakara is the most talkative terrorist I've ever met, over._"

Maxwell chuckled. "Is there a point in this conversation, over."

"_Yes, sir. Suvik claims that the LYNA scheduled a drop-off of the plans at a small town library. He was ordered to go pick it up the next day. When he got there couldn't locate the plans anywhere. Suvik was nearly beaten to death for his 'failure'. After that he lost his loyalty to the Tamil Tigers and is willing to talk in exchange for protection. What do you think, over._"

The agent gazed at the anxious figure of the boy. His smile widened. "Did you record that confession, over."

"_Yes, sir. I could also get the feed from the hospital security camera if you want, over._"

"No, that'll be fine. Thank you for the Intel, over and out."

Maxwell observed Rodney. "Congratulations Rodney, you've been pronounced guilty of being at the wrong place at the wrong time," he murmured.

The radio buzzed again. "_Maxwell, this is Sergeant Kavanaugh over._"

"What is it Sergeant, over."

"_Dr. Schaefer has just arrived, over._"

Maxwell felt his heart skip a beat. "What?!" His head was spinning. "How did he get here?! This is a highly classified facility!"

"_He just flew in, sir. And, uh,_" there was a pause,"_doesn't he have the highest level of security clearance? Over. _"

"I know that you imbecile!" snapped Maxwell. He wiped his face with a sweaty hand. He sighed in frustration and asked, "What could he possibly want here?!"

"_Apparently he wants to talk to the boy you just brought in. Uh, Meredith McKay I think? Is that even a boy's name? Over._"

The agitated CIA agent began to pace in the small room behind the 'mirror'. "Of course that's who he wants to talk to. Otherwise my job would be simple, right?" he muttered. Speaking to the radio he said "How long until he's here?"

"_Didn't I tell you? He just landed, over._"

Maxwell felt the rage boil up inside him. "When will he be _here_ at the facility?! And stop saying 'over' dammit! Just give me an answer!"

The silence over the radio lasted only a second. "_Ten minutes, sir._"

A stream of expletives spewed from his mouth. "That's it?! Why didn't air traffic control let us know that he was coming?! Don't answer that." Maxwell began to pace faster.

An ice-cold sensation settled in his insides. "Sergeant Kavanaugh, have you told Special Agent Davis about this?"

"_No, sir. I alerted you first._"

"This just gets better and better doesn't it?" remarked Maxwell sardonically.

"_Should I inform him now, sir?_"

"No. I'll do it myself," he spat and ended the communication. The agent stood silently for a moment, taking deep breaths. When he felt calm enough, Maxwell contacted his boss and told him of the illustrious Dr. Schaefer's unexpected arrival.

The normally composed Special Agent Davis reacted to the news very violently. He yelled at the agent and included some surprisingly creative curses. Maxwell wondered if Davis had been in the Marines once. The SA ordered him to his office where they would scramble to make everything fit to be in the Doctor's presence.

This was one scientist that you didn't want to get on the bad side of, no matter how small that side may be.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Rodney drummed his fingers loudly on the metallic table, still wound up with nervous energy. It seemed like Maxwell had left an eternity ago. The tension was worse now that he knew what was at stake. He regretted bringing Jeannie into all of this, but she was his only advocate. The loud click of the lock made Rodney jump. He was both relieved and horrified by the fact that Maxwell was finally back…

But it wasn't him. An unfamiliar Caucasian man stood in the doorway. Judging by his crow's feet and the flecks of silver in his hair, the stranger was in his mid-forties. The thing that caught Rodney off guard was his dress; the mystery man wore faded denim jeans and a loose fitting tee-shirt with the chemical formula for coffee on it if Rodney wasn't mistaken. Which, of course, he never was.

Tucked underneath one pale arm was yet another of those thick folders._ God, these people must go through so much paper,_ Rodney thought. The stranger strode across the room and sat in the chair Maxwell previously occupied. The recent arrival shuffled through the file while Rodney warily studied him. For a few moments neither of the room's two occupants spoke.

The man's informal attire and unshaven face would suggest someone that was irresponsible or incompetent, but the man exuded self-confidence. There was just something about him that Rodney couldn't quite put a finger on. Somehow the boy could sense that this was a man of great importance and knew it without being overtly egotistical.

The stranger was the one to break the silence. "So," he said, his twinkling gray eyes locking with Rodney's blue. "I hear you're the one who built that fantastic atomic bomb the CIA just brought in."

So he was a government employed scientist. That made a lot of sense. Still, he seemed to be more than just your average egghead. The man's light accent (British maybe?) confused him. Was he working for the CIA, or was yet another country involved in this?

"I've been studying it and, to be frank, it's quite a beauty." The comment made Rodney swell with pride despite his lingering anxiety. After all, they didn't send in this man just to chat. "If you don't mind I'd like to ask you a few questions about its design."

Still suspicious of the scientist, Rodney gave him a nervous shrug. The scientist interpreted that as a 'yes'.

The stranger fired an assault of questions on the construction of 'Senior', everything from the nuts and bolts to the containment chamber for the plutonium—that is, where it would go if it was a real bomb—even taking out pictures of the various parts. The more they talked the more Rodney became comfortable with this mysterious physicist who seemed to know his way around atomic weapons.

It wasn't only his expertise that relaxed Rodney. The man was so casual, so…laid back, that he was beginning to forget the seriousness of his situation. He also enjoyed the fact that he was _finally_ in the presence of someone at his level of intellect.

"Now then," the stranger said. "I noticed that you added something that wasn't on the plans. What does it do?"

The boy genius grinned. At last, someone who could appreciate his, well, ingenious design! "Well, the spiracle encasement directs the explosive forces inward. During the implosion it would create extreme compression. Subcritical mass would become supercritical."

The stranger's brow furrowed in thought. "But you also run the risk of creating too much pressure inside the hull. The detonation would be more like…explosive decompression than an atomic reaction.

Rodney scowled. "The spiral wouldn't create access pressure, just focus it."

"Creating or focusing, that build up can't be good for"—

"It's not the same type of pressure like the one in…SCUBA tanks for example. It would amplify the explosion, not weaken it."

The stranger frowned. "Still, I've never heard of anything like that being done. I don't think it'd work."

The genius curled his hands into tight fists as he attempted to contain his rage. "Listen here you bumble-headed twit. I don't know what puddle of Primordial ooze you just slithered out of but it's oh so painfully obvious that you don't have any sort of grasp on nuclear physics."

He tapped on the diagram of 'Senior'. "This is a brilliant—no—_revolutionary_ design. It would _not_ increase internal pressure as you moronically suggested, but would increase power and combustion by 20. I'm sorry if your puny brain fails to comprehend that but that's your problem."

Rodney took a deep gulp of air and swallowed, waiting for the stranger's response. He expected fury, indigence, or even arrogance. He never would have considered laughter.

The stranger was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. There was a bright sparkle in his eyes and an amused smile on his face. A deep chuckle rose out of his throat. "You really are an obnoxious little brat and a genius to boot. Your teachers must positively despise you." He laughed again, that odd smirk still on his face.

"Uh…" For one of the few times in his life, Rodney was speechless. _Maybe this guy really _is_ off the deep end. Way off. _

The chuckles died down. The man stared at McKay with something between appraisal and pride. It was a look he once seen on his own face as he first gazed at the perfection that was his newly built 'Senior'. The comparison was not comforting.

The stranger leaned forward, staring the small boy right in the eye. "I like you, kid. You've got potential to do great things but that doesn't mean jack if you just let it waste away. Some people are granted great minds, Rodney, with a lot of _potential_. But for whatever reason, usually the fear of ridicule, they don't do anything with it and fade away into the mundane.

"But you aren't like that." The man tapped the side of Rodney's head. "You're very strong up here. That alone makes you special." He placed the hand on the boy's chest. "You've also got a lot of strength in there. The strength of will. You know you're right and by God you're not going to let anybody tell you any different, consequences be damned. It's a very rare thing to have, Rodney.That's what makes you _spectacular_."

The stranger withdrew his hand and stood up. He began to gather the papers in silence. Rodney watched him, still entranced. The stranger stood at the door hand raised to knock. He turned to the boy and spoke. "You could go big places, Rodney, and I'm going to make sure you get there. Just get through the next few years—they're sure to be rough, they always are—and don't listen to a thing those short-sighted fools say. As soon as you graduate high school, maybe even before, they'll be a job waiting for you. I promise ya that."

He rapped on the door three times with his knuckles. It opened immediately. "Oh, and one more thing." A mischievous smile twisted the strange man's face. "If any of these CIA agents give you a hard time, tell them that Dr. Schaefer is taking care of it." With that same smirk on his face and a wink, Dr. Schaefer stepped through the doorway and out of sight.

Rodney sat behind the table, pondering what had just occurred.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

It had seemed like ages since Douglas had left Jeannie alone in the interrogation room. She didn't miss the CIA agent, however. Douglas hadn't been in a pleasant mood since Jeannie's outburst. She had left abruptly without saying where or why she was going.

Jeannie still didn't know what had happened to her brother.

The lock clicked loudly and the door swung inward with a slight screech of rusty hinges. Agent Douglas stood in the doorway making no move to enter. "Jeannie," she spoke quietly. "Your parents are here."

The little girl's face lit up. She rushed out of her chair and out the door. Jeannie followed the American through the busy police station. Officers walked past them looking like they were heading purposefully towards something. Others were behind desks and attempting to calm frantic people over the phone.

The pair eventually entered a conference room. Jeannie's parents were sitting on the side of a large faux wooden table opposite the door and facing two other Feds. Tears swelled in the little girl's eyes. "Daddy!" she cried and ran towards her father.

Mr. McKay stood up and embraced his daughter. All of the tension and worry that had been building up these past few hours spilled over. Her father rubbed her back and whispered assurances under his breath. When Jeannie had pulled herself back together, he helped the sniffling girl into the chair next to him.

"Now will someone tell us why my daughter was interrogated by a foreign government for three and a half hours and our son was taken to God know where?!" From what her mom said Jeannie realized that her parents didn't know anymore about the situation than she did.

An agent sitting to the left of Douglas spoke. "Now, Mrs. McKay, I know that you're upset"—

"You're damn right I'm upset!" She angrily pounded on the table with a finger to emphasize her point. "We got a phone call two hours ago saying that we needed to come home _immediately _because our children have been taken into custody of the USgovernment! When we arrive instead of getting an _explanation_ we get an _interrogation_!"

The government agents had adopted an expression of weary resignation. Once a Hurricane McKay was in full rant mode there was no stopping them. Jeannie supposed that they had learned that the hard way. "I want—no _demand_—to know what is going on!"

"Ma'am, please. I'm sorry for the confusion but we're here to explain." The man gestured to himself, the woman next to him, and the other male agent. "I'm CIA agent Garcia, my partner Agent Douglas, and this is CSIS Agent Haney and the Canadian overseer of this investigation."

Mrs. McKay narrowed her eyes. "Is this some kind of sick joke? You allowed this to happen?!"

Haney raised a hand to silence to infuriated woman. "I didn't 'allow' anything. This is a joint American/Canadian investigation. Even though the CIA headed the operation, the CSIS cleared everything."

"What investigation?! Why"—

Mr. McKay placed a hand lightly and his wife's. "Let the man speak." She scowled at him in a very Mere-like way and relented. Mrs. McKay crossed her arms and harrumphed, glaring expectantly at the agents.

"For you to completely understand, we're going to have to go back over a month ago when we first heard of the Tamil Tigers helping and being helped by a US based terrorist group known as the LYNA…"

The minutes slipped by as the agent wove a tale of thief and terrorism, of thick plots and missing plans. The more the McKays heard the more they realized the gravity of their situation. Of course, this was the first time that the elder McKays had heard that their son had designed and built a weapon of mass destruction. That alone was terrifying but knowing the events surrounding the plans he used…the situation was grave indeed.

Jeannie realized how much trouble Mere was going to be in when he got home. _Maybe Mere's right; he _is _a dead man. Either mom's going to kill him or the government is. _She didn't think that it was possible but knowing why all this had happened was worse than all the anxiety of not knowing. Perhaps the man that said 'ignorance is bliss' was right after all. Her stomach curled into a tight ball. Was Mere going to be okay?

After the agents had finished the explanation the McKays sat in silence digesting the information.

"So you're saying that Meredith built," Mrs. McKay paused as though still trying to absorb the fact. "An atomic bomb…using plans stolen by terrorists?" She ran a quivering hand through her hair. "This is a joke, right? I mean I knew Meredith wasn't a happy, average kid, but I never thought he could make freaking weapons of mass destruction in his spare time!"

Mr. McKay wrapped an arm around his wife's shoulders to calm her. "I'm sorry it's just…it's a lot to take in at once." He took a deep breath and swallowed. "Listen, Mere might not be your usual child but… he's not a terrorist."

Garcia was about to answer but was stopped by Haney. "We just received a transmission a few minutes ago that your son was on his way. We'll explain everything when he arrives in an hour or so." He stood up. "In the mean time would anybody like some coffee or something to eat?"

"Do you have anything to Irish up that coffee?" said Mrs. McKay weakly.

The CSIS agent laughed. "I'll see what I can do."

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The door to Rodney's interrogation room opened once more. At this point, he didn't think he'd be surprised if they sent a magical fairy to question him. _This isn't a top-secret facility; it's a nuthouse. _It wasn't a pixie that entered but good ole' Agent Maxwell. Rodney's stomach dropped at the sight of him. He didn't enter the room, however, just stood beneath the doorframe.

"Come on, Rodney," said Maxwell. "You're going home."

The boy felt his insides melt with relief. "You're letting me go? But…how?" He barely let himself believe it.

The tips of Maxwell's lips curled upward. "You're officially innocent. Let's just say I'll explain more when we get there. Now come on."

Rodney leapt out of that cold metal chair so fast it nearly tipped over. Maxwell let out a small laugh and led him through the maze of hallways. He blinked rapidly as his eyes struggled to adjust to the darkness outside. He looked towards the horizon and saw that the sun had almost fully set. _How long have I been in there? _

Waiting by the entrance of the facility was a terribly familiar white van. Rodney cautiously entered it and took a seat across from Maxwell. They drove the first few minutes of the trip in silence. Dozens of questions were buzzing around his mind. He settled on one.

"Who is Dr. Schaefer?" inquired Rodney.

Maxwell made a small smile. "A very important man in the science community and the US government."

The boy frowned. "Then how come I've never heard of him?"

"All of his work is classified." Maxwell's radio buzzed and he was forced to answer. He spent the rest of the trip talking to someone through it. They spoke in codes the entire conversation and Rodney couldn't make heads or tails of it.

They arrived at the same runway McKay had come in several hours ago. It seemed like he had been flying in that dilapidated plane with Hampton, Spade and Jack O'Neill a lifetime ago. A small jet much nicer than he first flew on was waiting for them. Rodney thought that the chances of surviving the flight were slightly greater than before.

As he moved towards the back, he glanced into the cockpit. The pilot wasn't Jack but some military grunt. Perhaps the odds weren't so good after all. Maxwell made a beeline for the co-pilot's seat and strapped himself in. The take-off felt much smoother than the previous flight, but attributed that to the aircraft and not the skill of the people flying it.

The flight turned out to be very boring and uneventful. The only thing of interest was the fact that Maxwell stayed in the cockpit the entire time, talking in code over the radio.

When they landed another van was waiting for them but surprisingly, this one was black. Rodney stared at it with a mix of confusion and apprehension. Maxwell noticed his reaction. "Is there something wrong with it?" he asked.

"It's black," stated Rodney as though that explained everything. He still didn't move towards it.

The CIA agent cocked an eyebrow. "Does that bother you?"

"No, it's just…after seeing only white ones…"

"Ah." Maxwell smiled. "Well, we've got to keep moving. Your family's expecting us."

During the second van trip Maxwell sat in the passenger's seat and, you guessed it, talked over the radio in code. Rodney was just itching to find out who he was talking to and what was so important.

Soon the familiar buildings of the town he was born and raised in came into view. Rodney felt his throat tighten up. He really was going home. The thought made everything sink in even more. _For once I think that I might not be a dead man! Well, then again Mom will definitely kill me when she finds out about what happened. So I'm still a dead man but a happy, not guilty, dead man! _The boy swallowed and tried to quell the rising emotions.

The van stopped near the local police station. Rodney felt his heart start to beat faster. _I thought he said I was going home. This is not my house._ The van doors opened and Maxwell told him to follow him.

Rodney walked briskly through the crowded police station, closely following the CIA agent. For the most part they were ignored—which he thought was weird--but the strangest thing was that sometimes an officer would stop and stare at _him_ and not the large man in front of him. He felt very self-conscious. _Is there something on my face? _Rodney tried to inconspicuously wipe his mouth.

Maxwell and the boy arrived at what seemed to be a meeting room near the back of the station. Rodney sighed and braced himself for another round of questioning. His head was bowed morosely as the agent opened the door. A startled gasp made Rodney jerk up his head. The sight that met his eyes made is eyes water up and a painful lump form in his throat.

His mother and father sat behind a table staring at him oddly but sitting next to them was Jeannie. He saw her small pink lips quiver from rising emotions that Rodney didn't even try to name. The siblings both rushed for each other at the same time and hugged.

Rodney had never been good at the touchy feely stuff but seeing his sister whole and safe brought out a part of him the genius didn't even know he had. Jeannie was very expressive, on the other hand, and was reduced to tears. Rodney could feel the salty wetness seeping through the shirt covering his shoulder where his sister's head lay. Not sure of what else to do he rubbed her back gently and whispered that it was over now.

"I'm afraid not, Rodney," murmured Maxwell softly. "I hate to do this but we still have lots to discuss. I have to explain what's going to happen from here."

Rodney guided his little sister that he loved more than he would ever admit to a chair and helped her sit.

The four government agents sat rigidly in front of the McKays, preparing to tell them the news that would alter their lives forever. An officer pulled the door closed and the revelations began.

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* * *

_A/N _Cliffhanger! Yay! I know that there must be so many little annoying questions nagging you. Well, you're just going to have to wait until next time! evil laughter

I haven't been getting much feedback lately. All writing and no reviews make scifilemon a very slow typer. So show me the love and review! Pretty please with lots of Stargate on top?

And just to let you all know, Suvik Jayasakara really is a Sri Lankan name. Suvik means 'speedy healer'. I just wanted to mention that because I thought it was funny. shrug

But please, don't let my nerdiness stop you from reviewing! Seriously, just click the little button in the bottom left hand and corner and type a few words and hit 'Submit Review'. It's not a complicated process people! 


	10. But It's Not Over Yet

_Author's Note: Okay... So this took longer than I thought. Bare with me! Thank you SOOOO much for your patience. I hope this lives up to all of your long awaited expectations! :D_

**Chapter Ten: But it's Not Over Yet**

At the end of a hallway crowded with hurried policemen there was a door that, though made to resemble oak, was too cheap and flimsy to be the real thing. As the group filed inside, Rodney and Jeannie trailed behind. Standing a few steps from the threshold, Jeannie threw her tiny arms around his waist.

Rodney patted her back with the tips of his fingers. "Okay, okay, enough with the sentimentality. I'm fine, you're fine. Let's regain some composure before our professionalism is completely undermined, okay?"

Jeannie nodded against his chest and released him. "Sorry Mere, I'm just scared."

Rodney blinked and put his weight on his left side, away from her. "I'll figure something out." He plastered on a smile. "I am a McKay after all."

Her expression brightened. Nodding, she said, "Yup. I trust you Mere; you're usually right."

He scoffed while pushing anxiety into the pit of his belly. "I think you meant 'always'."

Rodney heard someone clearing their throat. He turned to see Maxwell standing with crossed arms. "Are you two ready to join us?"

A blush crept onto Jeannie's cheeks and she ducked her head. Rodney nudged her with an elbow. "Yeah. Sorry, Mister Agent, sir."

Maxwell stepped to the side, leaving the doorway open for them. With a few quick steps Rodney was inside with Jeannie following in his wake. An agent shut the door as she entered. Taking a bracing breath, Rodney looked around.

The spacious room was, much to his relief, not another enclosing interrogation box. A wooden conference table lay at the center, warm florescent lights reflecting off its polished surface. Four dark swivel chairs rested on either side. Windows covered the wall directly opposite from Rodney but thin metal blinds hid the outside from his view. Fading sunlight wormed its way in through the hair-thin gaps between the strips.

His parents sat next to each other and across the table from him, expressions conflicted. Three adults were in the room with them. One stood by the door with a relaxed air, another with beady eyes that never left him paced by the far wall. The last sat opposite his father. Their faces he didn't recognize but they wore suits that he always would.

Maxwell took a few long strides to stand beside Rodney and his little sister."Allow me to introduce you to Agents Garcia, Douglas, and Haney. I believe your sister has already met them."

Rodney tapped his foot and flicked a hand. "Hello, how are you, and so on. Can we just skip the introductions and get to the point?"

"Meredith Rodney McKay!" His mother spoke, face mixed with shame and shock. "This is serious!"

His face felt a sudden flush at his parents' stare. "Fine." Rodney felt Jeannie poke him in the back. "Ow! What was that for?"

"If you would be so kind," Maxwell gestured to the empty chairs beside their parents.

Jeannie chose the spot next to their father and Rodney plopped into the chair next to her. He felt Jeannie grip his arm with her tiny fingers. His mother looked into the coffee, eyes unfocused as his father massaged her forearm with a calloused thumb.

Maxwell took the chair next to Haney. He lowered a bundle of folders onto the smooth table and folded his dark hands on top of them. "Well, let's get to business shall we?" His observing eyes took in the family. "I'm sure you all want to know what's going to happen from here."

Rodney muttered under his breath, "Well, obviously." From Garcia's smirk, Douglas's glare, his father's panicked stare, and Jeannie's smack to his shoulder, the sound carried better in the room than he realized. He became very engaged with studying the swirls in the oak as heat crept over the sides of his face and the tips of his ears.

His father coughed. "What I think my son meant to say, Agent Maxwell, is that we really want to settle all this so we can put it very, very far behind us."

Maxwell's mouth tightened in the corners. He stretched his lips into something that resembled a grimace. "I'll get to that in a moment." He returned his attention to Rodney. "I would now like to state that you are formally innocent of committing acts of terrorism and the building of a weapon of mass destruction." Maxwell locked eyes with the boy. "I want you to remember this no matter what happens."

"What do you mean? What's going to happen to me?"

Maxwell sighed between tight lips. "Both the CIA and the CSIS fear that the terrorist group responsible for the smuggling may have discovered—if they haven't already—that Rodney not only intercepted the plans but also built a near perfect working model.

Rodney couldn't contain himself. "Excuse me! What do you mean 'near' perfect? I"—

Neither the agent's expression nor demeanor changed and he continued, "After the incident at the school, news broadcasters swarming the area left very little to the imagination regarding what happened and who was responsible.

"And when they put that final piece in the puzzle, they will come after you and your family. These people will stop at nothing to hunt you down and force you to create weapons for them." The CIA agent locked eyes with Rodney.

"The US and Canadian governments will not and cannot allow that to happen. Therefore, you will all be relocated. You will not be allowed to tell anyone where you are going and must sever all ties to everyone"—

Rodney's mother leaned forward. "They can really do that? The government can really do that? All because of some an overambitious junior high science fair?"

Agent Haney hunched his shoulders. "We're afraid that this has become more than just an admittedly freakish private affair." He sent the McKays a soft look. "I am so sorry."

Mrs. McKay curled her hands into shaking fists. "This isn't fair! This isn't right! I will not leave!"

"Honey, please." His father reached for her arm.

She yanked it off the table as if scalded. An accusing finger waggled in the air. "Don't you _dare_ start that with me!" Her furnace eyes melted the steel faces of the government agents in front of her. "You can't scare me with terrorists. I've lived with the most evil, cunning and vile one of them for twelve long and frightening years. Let hell and high water come; I am not leaving."

Maxwell's expression remained the same as it had been. "Mrs. McKay, your son is in grave danger. It is impossible for him to stay here."

"You've made that perfectly clear, Mister Secret Agent Man." Her back locked straight, her shoulders recoiled—but her eyes would not leave Maxwell's. "You can take him. I'm staying here."

Rodney felt the air rush from his lungs like an invisible body builder chucked a medicine ball at the fork of his legs.

His father gasped, a long and terrible sound. "You can't be serious! You can't leave us!"

Her fury retracted to a smoldering heat that lit up her nerves like a brushfire. "You go ahead and leave. I'm staying here. I'm staying. I'm not leaving. You can't make me leave…" The flames consumed her passion. She slumped forward, eyes ashy and downcast.

"We'll talk about this later, okay? Alright?" Mr. McKay's voice was tense, wavering.

She nodded absently, but said nothing.

"Can you at least tell us where we're going?" asked his father, face turned in the direction of the agents but not in their eyes. The wrinkles on his forehead were deep with worry. A pained expressed made him appear haggard.

The agents shifted in their chairs. Douglas crossed her arms and rubbed her bicep with the edge of her thumb. Rodney felt her gaze wander over him and Jeannie, concerned. Haney coughed and threw his focus on the table.

"For the past hour or so, I have been listening to a negotiation between the U.S. and Canadian governments regarding the exact place of your relocation," said Maxwell, tone steady and sterile, but some of the hardness dripped out of his features.

Rodney felt a stab of anger pierce the shock. "Are you saying that two countries are fighting over who gets me, like I'm the shiny new toy?"

Maxwell conceded a small smile. "You're a very gifted boy and each nation wants any advancement, invention, and so on that you create."

"But…" Rodney searched the faces of his family. "I have rights! I get a say in this!"

Haney scowled at Maxwell. "That's what I've been saying for the past six hours," he scoffed, "but what are small matters like 'child welfare' and 'civil rights' to the mighty American government, defenders of democracy and champions of capitalism?"

Douglas stiffened and shifted to face him. "The United States cares a great deal about the well being of Meredith and the entire McKay family. My whole purpose here is to ensure that the needs of the family and justice are met."

"Of course, of course," Haney waved his hand in a dismissive motion, "but that doesn't change the fact that four citizens from _my_ country face extradition by a government that just declared them innocent of the crime they're being extradited for!"

"Agents, if you please." Maxwell said in a tone of absolute authority. "I sympathize with all of your positions. This is a difficult and trying situation for both sides." His face softened for the first time. "However, no major decision is being made at this moment."

Maxwell let his gaze wander over the whole family, speaking to each one individually. "For now you and your family will be taken to a safe house in a hotel several miles to the north. We have security officers—agents of CSIS and local police— to protect you until a final decision is made by people with resumes much longer than mine."

Rodney heard the CIA agent pause. He glanced over at his family and saw the way their shoulders slumped. His mother turned her face to him. Her watery eyes were narrowed with hate under a furrowed brow. She broke the gaze with a jerk of her head. Jeannie and his father seemed too deep in thought to register anything except the table.

He fought back tears of his own. How could they do this to him, his own family! Blame him for something that was out of his hands. It wasn't his fault; none of it was his fault, especially not the move.

Building 'Senior' might have been the catalyst for all this but Rodney didn't mean for any of this to happen! So why should they blame him? And now, his mother…what was going to happen to them?

Softly, Maxwell added, "Thank you for your cooperation and assistance. I hope you can get a good night's sleep."


	11. Queue the Mushroom Cloud

Chapter Eleven: Queue the Mushroom Cloud

A police officer dressed in a crisp uniform lead Rodney and his family out into the fading sunlight. The sunset dove into the earth behind the police station, outlining the building in a golden glow and cast everything else into shadow. Gravel crunched under his tattered sneakers as Rodney followed the stocky man to his father's car.

Halfway there, Jeannie pulled on his arm. "Wait up!"

He growled. Pebbles crinkled as he shook his arm free of her grip. "For what, exactly? Don't tell me that I'm walking too fast; I'm walking at my own pace. Not my fault that your tiny little legs don't stride the same length as mine."

Jeannie planted her feet. "Look!" She pointed behind her.

Sighing, Rodney turned to follow the invisible line shooting out of her fingertip.

Back at the steps of the station, his parents were fighting. Loud but indiscernible words drifted over to them. His mother crossed and uncrossed her arms, one shooting out to emphasize some point and retreated to its place under her bosom. Tears reflected off her cheeks but her back was set straight. His father argued and then, pleaded. He tried to edge closer, murmuring something Rodney couldn't hear.

Mrs. McKay stepped back and shook her head. She threw up her hands, hugged herself again, flinched away from her husband's touch… and then she walked away.

His father looked devastated, but Rodney couldn't feel much of anything. He heard footsteps behind him. A heavy hand found his shoulder.

"Come on, let's go. Another officer can take your dad to the hotel." Rodney thought he recognized the voice and face, but the dots weren't connecting in his mind any more. He allowed himself to be lead away by the policeman.

He blinked and found himself in the back of a car next to Jeannie. She was pale and black bags bore under her eyes.

"Mere? Mere? Where did Mom go? Will she meet us at the motel?"

Rodney sighed. "Just… try to get some sleep." He buckled this seat belt and twisted away from her, elbow resting on the armrest and his jaw propped up in his hand. He closed his eyes and knew no more.

A click and the door opened. Rodney's elbow slipped off its rest, his head bobbed into space. He mumbled and lolled his chin on his chest.

"Poor guy is passed out."

"Wonder what he dreams about."

"World domination?"

Rodney was too exhausted to say a witty comeback. His brain was still half-asleep, the words of the unfamiliar male voices automatically filing into some dusty cabinet to reviewed when the sun was up and coffee flowed through his veins.

Heavy footsteps, muted on concrete. "I just got Jeannie in bed, I'll take him up too." His dad.

"Alright, Mr. McKay. We'll be patrolling through the night. Eight AM sharp, sir, we'll meet with you here to take you to the airport.

The seatbelt clicked and retracted. His father's arms supported him underneath his knees and shoulders. He rose into shaky air, the muscles carrying him started to tremble. "Oof, you're not as small as you used to be."

They were moving. Rodney tried to resist being carried like an infant, but under the circumstances he wasn't sure he'd be able to walk on his own. His head nodded against his chest, bouncing lightly with every step.

The sound of his father's steps changed, slapping on concrete to padding on something softer. The air became less chilled and the wind died. Rodney was lowered and felt warm fabric around him.

As sleep began to weave its black tentacles through his mind, Rodney wondered why no one had mentioned his mother. And to that, he pondered why it didn't affect him to think of his mother gone.

Rodney was ripped from the dark the sound of an explosion and shattering glass.

The window to his right, next to the motel door, ruptured into thousands of tiny fragments. He threw the covers over his head to it from the slivers. The popping of gunshots forced him to cover his ears and block out the deafening blasts.

He curled into a quivering ball under the fabric, knowing all too well the sheets could offer little protection. Rodney heard men shouting incoherently, their voices surprisingly audible over the weapons fire. An agonized scream rang out, whether it was him or Jeannie or someone else, he didn't know. He screwed his eyes shut and clamped his hands tighter over his vulnerable eardrums.

Rodney heard more popping. His father grunted above the chaos outside.

A high pitch scream came from close by. "DADDY!" Jeannie wept.

He squealed in unadulterated terror. For all his hypochondria, never before had he felt so sure of his death.

The firefight stopped, without warning. Noise died in an instant, leaving only echoes of shouting. Jeannie still cried and screamed for their father. Rodney thought he smelled something metal, like copper.

The door burst in with a concussive boom that reverberated around the motel.

"We have a civilian down in here! Gunshot, there's a lot of blood!"

"Get them out of here, now!"

Jeannie shrieked back, her audible agony could shatter windows and hearts. Rodney lay shaking but silent.

Under the darkness of the covers, Rodney heard someone muttering gentle undertones to his sister, who stop screaming. Footsteps and he couldn't hear her tears anymore. A grunt and heave from a deep voice, he knew his father was gone too.

"Dammit kid, move!" When it became obvious that Rodney wasn't going to be moving of his own volition anytime soon, the man strode over. His heart raced to hummingbird speeds. His cloth shield was ripped from him.

"Follow me!" Rodney peeled his fingers from his face, deciding to face his fate with eyes open. The man was a local cop with dark hair and eyes that flashed. His hands clasped his handgun, gaze never left the window. "We gotta go NOW!"

Rodney felt like reality just slapped him upside the head. Jeannie! Dad! He had to go see them, get them out of here! What was he doing? He climbed to his feet, still fully dressed from head to toe. He slipped on his sneakers placed orderly beside his bed and followed the cop outside.

The sidewalk was littered with bits of reflective glass. A police car was parked haphazardly by the curb, the driver and passenger doors open. A couple other police cars crowded one side of the block, the vehicles being filled with handcuffed men in their backseats. Some dark skinned, around his father's age. Others were only a few years older than Rodney.

The cop walked around the car to stand beside the wheel and waved him forward.

"What about my family?" He wasn't sure what he'd do if his father was seriously hurt. And Jeannie…God, she must be so scared.

"They're fine, probably already heading to the runway! We gotta get moving!"

Rodney stepped outside. One of the handcuffed men looked his way. Rage and recognition twisted his features. He screamed and thrashed against the officer in a language Rodney didn't understand.

He stumbled back, eyes wide. The cop put a hand on the screamer's head and shoved him roughly into the car. Rodney could see the screamer's lips still moving, but all the sound was blocked out.

"What was that? Sorry, I can't hear you. Have a nice time in jail." Rodney knew the man wouldn't hear him, but it made him feel better to insult him anyway.

He looked to the waiting officer, who seemed suddenly more content to wait. The screaming man was driven away, leaving Rodney and his officer alone. His muscles now trembled in aftershock from buckets of adrenaline that pumped in them.

The police officer fumbled for the radio as Rodney put his seatbelt on. "This is Perez, I've got the last of 'em!"

"_10-4. Proceed to Wayne's airport ASAP."_

"Ask her how my dad and Jeannie are!" said Rodney. "Please," he added.

Eyes still focused on the road, Perez nodded. "Status of the other McKays?"

"_Mr. McKay hurt but stable. The girl is sleeping it off. Both on standby onboard."_

Rodney felt something inside him relax. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

"_What's your ETA, Officer?"_

"Ten minutes. Over and out." Perez glanced at Rodney from the corner of his eye. "Get some rest kid. It's all gonna be a blur from here."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Aw, you mean, miss out on another exciting vacation opportunity with the government? I mean, we are going to Disneyland, right?"

"Hey, I'm just the driver. Don't kill the messenger here." He leaned towards Rodney, focus flickering from the road to his face and back again. "But if I were you, I'd be thankful about wherever you're going. Those guys were serious about ending you. You're somebody special to the suits. But to those thugs, you're just a walking target."

He gulped. "So it's a matter of big fish, caged pond or dead fish in free waters?" He smiled. "Big fish! Big fish!"

Perez laughed. "Get some rest, kid. It's all taken care of from here."

And Rodney did.


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note: **Well, here it is. After three years, this has come to a close. Thanks to all those who stuck in there with me and kept on reading! Hope this greatly rewards all your patience that I feel so blessed to have received!

Chapter Twelve: Fallout

On the airport runway another private jet lingered while CIA agents Hampton and Spade waited nearby. As the police car slowed and parked, the haggard agents strode to Rodney and his police chauffer. The door opened before Rodney could place his hand on the latch. Hampton helped him ease his stiff body out of the vehicle while his partner kept her back to them, hand tucked inside her jacket.

Officer Perez bade him a final goodbye. He acknowledged it with a sleepy wave.

"This way," Hampton said. He placed a gentle hand on Rodney's right shoulder and gently guided him towards the plane. Spade trailed behind without a work. The boy assumed she was scouring every person and cranny in her line of vision for any hint of a threat.

As they approached the stairway, Rodney chuckled. "Irony, meet déjà vu. Shake hands. Exchange pleasantries."

Looking over his shoulder, Hampton smiled with tight lips. Douglas' face remained stoic. "Funny," she said. "Well, since we're all practiced, we can cut out the witty repartee and just get in the damn plane, hmm?"

Even as exhaustion and anxiety tugged at his mind, Rodney managed to mock, "But it was so fun the first time around."

She threw him a scowl. "Don't make me use my gun."

Hampton shifted in front of Rodney, facing him but not meeting his eyes. "Don't mind her. She can be a real witch when she hasn't had her four cups of coffee." He turned and glared over his suited shoulder.

Exhaustion made Rodney woozy. The concrete the three stood on started to look comfortable to curl up and doze on. Deciding to conserve his remaining energy, he allowed himself to be hurried up the jet's steps.

As he stepped pass the threshold, Rodney surveyed the cabin. His family was already strapped into their seats. Jeannie rested her head on their father's right shoulder, his other arm bandaged between the elbow and shoulder. Rodney's eyes widened at the white gauze.

The elder McKay looked up. Dark purple bags, almost black in their intensity, marred his face and made the red veins in his glassy eyes stand out with shocking clarity. He gave Rodney a half smile and a shrug before closing his eyes again.

In the row behind them, a woman with ebony skin and bleached yellow hair wrapped in a bun sat up. "Your daddy's gonna be fine. The bullet just shaved off a couple layers of skin. Should heal quick. Got him on some morphine to help with the pain," she whispered.

Rodney snagged the closest empty window seat and almost collapsed into it. Hampton took the aisle seat beside him. As he buckled in, Rodney glanced hopefully towards the cockpit. He couldn't tell from the back of the head, but once he announced the take-off the boy was disappointed to find that it wasn't O'Neill.

He fell asleep the moment he buckled in and reclined his weary head against the plush leather head rest.

Rodney sat on the steps of his new Maryland home, watching the setting sun and reflecting while he waited. It was an adequately nice place; a cozy two-story small like a cottage with a tiny attic only big enough to store boxes of holiday decorations and Canadian keepsakes, and a basement that was really more of a root cellar. The exterior was painted a clean white, the shudders a deep blue and a cherry red door.

Over the last few days, he slowly accepted that the course of his life was altered, and his relationship with the two people he called family with it.

Any other time, he would have literally jumped for joy at the thought of his mother leaving. His dad and sister didn't see it the same way. Though they made some effort to hide it from him, Rodney knew they blamed him for it. He could glean why, even if it was wrong. He didn't force her to do anything. She could have come. It was her choice.

The boy felt the hurt like a constant ache in his chest, but he refused to let it show. Fine, let them be quiet. Let Jeannie stand when he sat and leave the room when he walked in. She'll get over it. And dad… well, he was always the silent type, right? What was the big deal with a little more silence?

Rodney would never let his emotions show, because it was as good as defeat. And he wouldn't lose.

Not even with Jeannie.

His sister had the most difficult time transitioning… more accurately, with the ones responsible for it. The CIA lived up to all their promises, but she still despised them .

The McKays now had dual United States and Canadian citizenships.

Rodney and Jeannie were enrolled in a well-funded and academically excelling private school just thirty miles outside of Washington D.C. He didn't miss the fact that it was also very close to the CIA headquarters.

They were paying his dad a very cushy salary until he could find a job somewhere nearby. He seemed to ignore the money though, living very much the same way that they did back home.

On that note, Rodney's father never looked the same since they told him that they were in a sort of temporary witness protection program, and that they couldn't contact anyone from their former lives for at least five years. The security and technical reasoning and details didn't really matter. The effect did.

They would have no way to try to find his mother, or for her to contact them. If she ever wanted to.

As he turned all this over in his mind, a station wagon rumbled up to the curb. Its headlights were bright against the orange luminescence of the streetlamps. The engine shuddered silent as its driver stepped out stretching.

Doctor Schaeffer looked very much the same as the last time Rodney saw him. The scientist waved to him and he did the same, butterflies fluttering around his insides. Crossing the front lawn, he gestured to the empty side of the step next to Rodney. "May I?"

The boy nodded. "Sure."

Schaeffer lowered himself with a sigh, staring off into the crimsons and golds that played across the western sky as the sun's orb passed below the horizon. Rodney waited and waited, but he didn't say anything.

"Well," Rodney said after the silence stretched. "Are you going to tell me what you came here to tell me, or are we just going to keep enjoying this poignant moment together?"

"Why are sunsets so gosh-darn pretty?"

He watched Schaeffer's face for any sign of a tell. As far as Rodney could tell he was either completely serious or he had an infallible poker face. Rodney frowned. "Dust particles in the atmosphere refracts sunlight differently at that angle, so the red and orange end of visible light are more clearly seen, while the blues are hidden."

Schaeffer chuckled, "Always the scientist." He still didn't look at Rodney. "It's been, what, just over a week since we last spoke."

Rodney blinked, thinking back. Only a week? "Yeah," he said.

"How've you been?"

He snorted. "You mean, how I feel about being chased out of my home country by terrorists, being relocated to Maryland and enrolled in some pretentious private school? Oh, just swell. You just missed me dancing a jig in all my uncontainable ecstasy."

The scientist shook his head. "Think of the bright side."

"And what exactly would that be?" Rodney spat.

Schaeffer glanced from the sky to him and back again. "You're out of danger and you've got a helluva lot of opportunity laid right out in front of you. Besides, over forty percent of the alumni from that school end up going to Ivy League universities. Fresh start with a name already made for yourself."

He sat up straighter. "What do you mean?"

The scientist tossed Rodney a wicked smirk. "Someone has been telling people who work with the US government about a certain smart ass little prodigy that could make it big in a field of science so cutting edge and controversial that it has to be classified… if he can keep his mouth shut long enough to do it." Schaeffer's eyes sparkled. "They're pretty excited about it."

The man shifted to face him. "The reason I came here, young Jedi, was to tell you that if you keep yourself out of too much trouble, I have a job waiting for you. Normally they wait until you become a legal adult so you can sign lots of long-winded confidentiality contracts, but they're willing to make an exception for you when you turn sixteen."

Rodney couldn't hold back the smug grin that spread across his face. "Of course they would. Any self-respected scientific R and D institution would be begging for me." He stretched out his cramping knees looking away. "So, what exactly is this empty space they're reserving for me?"

Schaeffer laughed. "An internship at a top-secret government research center in the American South West that leads up to a peer review and full employment. I can't tell you exactly where, but I'll give you this: it's few notches below the one you thought, but it's the fastest track to it."

His mind buzzed while his body froze. His sarcasm neurons seemed to be preoccupied, and he mustered the brain power to say, "Huh."

The scientist glanced at his watch. The hands pointed to a combination that meant something to him, because he clapped Rodney on the back and stood. "I have to be going. No rest for the intellectually gifted and government owned. But it's all an adventure. Keep that in mind."

Rodney furrowed his brow, but nodded.

Schaeffer took a few steps, then snapped his fingers and turned back to him. "Oh! And one last bit of advice." He paused, seemingly to ensure that he had Rodney's full attention. He did. "I'm sure that your family is having trouble… adjusting, yes?"

His stomach sank at the thought, but Rodney bobbed his head in the affirmative.

He leaned in and murmured, "Don't worry about them. Focus on yourself. Because if you go down the classified brick road, you won't be able to take them with you anyways. It happens to everyone. Sad but true. My advice… watch lots of television. Get obsessed with whatever branch of science gets you hot and live off pop culture. It's educational, fulfilling, and damn entertaining."

"Way ahead of you," Rodney grinned.

With a final laugh and wave, Schaeffer headed back to his station wagon. He called out, "See you in four years!" He swung inside, gunned the engine, and drove into the dusk.

The boy genius sat for a while longer, pondering everything said between them. He craved a Power Bar and had a nagging question about particle physics he felt like researching.

So he got up, went inside, and got to work.

**Final Note**: Thanks again everyone! **Please, please, please review **and tell me what you think! Was it terrible, wonderful, or meh? Thanks for reading!


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